


Ad Astra

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [14]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dissociation, F/M, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Space Battles, Team as Family, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: It hurts so deeply. To be so close to someone, yet be so far away. Keith, thrust into his new role of leadership, struggles to defend the universe from enemies, both from within and across the cosmos. The paladins are young, unused to war and conflict, but already weary. What starts as a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand over the Galra Empire and Lotor’s increasing reach, devolves into a series of skirmishes within Team Voltron and the Blade of Marmora.





	1. Black Orchid

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This story in particular takes place after the main events of season two and interweaves itself with major events of season three. I will add tags as I go along. This fic, and this series in its entirety, features a main original character and recreated canon characters from other Voltron counterparts. Although, it isn't required to read the preceding stories, I do recommend it to understand who is who and what's going on. This story has very loose thematic allusions to the Iliad, Odyssey, and Oresteia, as well as the Ptolemaic dynasty.

The Black Lion purrs around him, deep and low, so unfamiliar. He smells Shiro’s aftershave, some foreign woodsy scent he had purchased at the Unilu swap moon before Shiro disappeared. It tickles his nose and fills him with such grief that even Black’s soft rumbles can’t calm him. The toggles hum, vibrating in his clenched hands. Despite the foreign sensation, Black stirs something within him. Maybe it’s the fact that the previous paladin is his missing in action boyfriend or the one before that is his estranged tyrannical grandfather, but Black recognizes Keith and not just because of his bond with Red. The psychic link makes him pause, tangling in his sorrow and pain. 

“Sorry, Black,” Keith apologizes aloud, “I’m just not used to the feel of you.”

Black growls low in his throat, understanding Keith’s sudden train of thought.

Allura’s face flashes across one of the console screens, her pink and white armor tinted purple in the glow of Black’s sub-lights.

“At least he likes you,” she says, her voice high-pitched and slightly frantic. “Blue and I are struggling. _Again._ ”

“Calm down, Allura,” Lance’s voice crackles through the communication link. “Stop pulling away from her. She likes when you seek her advice.”

Allura huffs and Keith can see her nose scrunch up in mild agitation. 

“Pidge,” Keith calls out, “how far out are we from the cargo freighter?”

Keith can see the Green Lion in Black’s peripheral vision. She maneuvers ahead of them as if she’s mapping the way, but she pulls back into formation a tick later.

“Sorry about that,” Pidge says, “hands were off the controls. Umm… the coordinates Ulaz gave us says we’re about three planets out. They must have left a work camp territory about a varga ago. We’ll be catching them in route to a depot in about five doboshes.”

“Alright,” Keith answers, “we have to be ready. Remember this is a recovery mission. Most likely the sentries will be guarding the prisoners. Me and Allura will provide cover fire. Hunk, you and Pidge get access into the freighter and free those prisoners. Lance, make sure you pull those cruisers away from Hunk and Pidge.”

“Copy that!” He hears everyone shout.

“Uh… Keith?” Allura grimaces on the screen, her voice tentative. “Maybe I should pull the cruisers and Lance could provide cover fire?”

“No,” Keith says, tersely. “You need to learn Blue’s maneuvering. Lance is right; you can’t shy away from her. Plus, Lance is faster in Red. They’ll chase him and give us enough time to provide cover.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Lance whoops excitedly.

“So, how are we supposed to gain access into the cruiser?” Hunk asks. 

“I’m sending you both some schematics my dad forwarded to me,” Keith says, tapping away at one of his left consoles. “He hacked into one of the imperial communication outposts a few quintants ago.” 

“That’s how Ulaz got the information about where this freighter was going to be,” Pidge adds, pausing to review the schematics that pinged on her dashboard. “Alright, Hunk we’ll take the back hanger. There’s not many guards there. We’ll sweep the floor, then head down to the brig.”

“Copy.”

“I can’t believe your mom and dad did their last date night on a mission,” Lance laughs.

“Yeah, well, they never seem to do anything normal couples do,” Keith chuckles.

The communication link is quiet for only a few ticks.

“Paladins,” Allura says, “I’m nervous. I don’t know if I can do this. I-I know I want to do this, I _need_ to do this! I’m just very apprehensive.”

Keith can feel it, the anxiety rolling from Allura in waves. It almost makes Black lose his cool. Keith’s palms are sweaty as he steadies himself, trying to push some serenity towards Blue and Allura. 

“Allura,” Lance says. “Listen, you just got to work with her. She’ll be fine. Don’t be so stubborn, okay? Blue will help you if you let her. Trust me.”

The Altean princess takes a deep breath, slowly closing her eyes and nodding, merging with Blue in a moment of quiet. 

“We’re almost there,” Pidge says. “You’ll be okay, Allura, don’t worry.”

“Keith will be right next to you,” Hunk adds. 

They can all feel the flow as Allura bonds with Blue, slowly but surely her eyes flutter open. A new look of determination furrows her eyebrows and wrinkles her forehead. She nods. 

“Okay,” she says, almost sighing. “I think… I think I’m good.”

“We’ve got this guys.” Keith is about to dispatch them when Hunk’s voice bleeds through his link.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hunk starts. “I’m looking over some of the schematics and this ship is a cargo freighter, right? Well, it’s not just trafficking aliens. There's resources on this ship.”

“What?” Lance’s voice crackles over the communication link. 

“What kind of resources?” Allura asks.

“Food rations, protein and mineral water, luxite, several coffers of GAC, and of course a few hundred canisters of quintessence,” Hunk recites.

“We could use that, right?” Lance inquires.

Luxite is a rare and valuable metal, especially to the Blade of Marmora. So rare, in fact, that he still uses his mother’s blade and she relies heavily on her science and magic in the field. When was the last time the Blades had a shipment of luxite to fill their forge?

“Change of plans,” Keith says over the link. “We’re going to do everything as discussed, except we’re also taking the ship.”

“What?” Allura sputters.

“What do you mean _take the ship_?!” Lance hollers.

“We’re going to make sure we get all of those prisoners out. But we’re also going to take as many of those cruisers out as we can too, disable the boost thrusters on the freighter so it can’t enter hyper-space, and get the hell out of here.”

"So while we're taking care of business out front, Hunk and Pidge are going to load the resources on to Yellow and Green?" Lance asks.

"Yeah."

“Oh, god,” Hunk whines. “Alright, let’s make this quick.”

“Easier said than done,” Pidge bemoans.

She’s not wrong. This is a long shot. Allura is still unused to piloting a Lion, and it’d be dishonest if he said that him and Lance weren’t struggling.

Their five doboshes are up. The looming gray freighter moves slowly in front of them surrounded by only a few cruisers, but still enough to put up a fight. Keith swallows around the tension in his throat. He’s unused to leadership, but his friends… his family believe in him. They believe in his plan. Clutching the toggles, Keith takes a deep breath.

 _Patience yields focus._ The words that brought him and Shiro closer. The words that calmed him whenever calamity struck. 

Keith takes another deep breath and hits the thrusters.

“Alright, paladins, it’s time to work.”

He feels the Lions roar loudly in unison. Pidge is the first to move, cloaking Green until she blends in seamlessly with the void. Lance moves next, accelerating forward and immediately firing plasma beams. They strike a few cruisers, before the Galra realize they’re under attack and Red peels away from the formation. Several Galra cruisers chase after him. Hunk moves forward, Yellow somersaulting through space before hitting the boosters and catching up with Pidge. 

“You still with me, Allura?” Keith asks over the communication link. He can see her forehead creasing with concentration in the video feed.

She nods, accelerating Blue and taking out a couple of straggling cruisers. For the next few ticks, blood pounds wildly in his ears as he sweeps low, firing on some cruisers rapidly approaching Allura’s port side. His palms are sweaty and cold as he grips the toggles. Black holds for a moment before bashing into another set of cruisers, sending the enemy ships spiraling into the void, breaking apart as they get farther away.

“I’m coming back,” Lance says, his voice strained. “I hope you cleared the area, because I’ve got some guys on my six.”

“I got you, buddy,” Keith grimaces. “Allura take out the boost thrusters!”

“Copy,” she murmurs. 

Keith sees Blue hurtle down towards the underside of the freighter. Black swivels around just in time to see a red dot barreling towards him.

“Keith!” Lance screeches. “I need help! I can’t break this thing!”

Keith chuffs, shaking his head before accelerating forward. He swerves past Lance and into oncoming cruisers. Black’s proximity alarm blares loudly in his ears, but the Lion opens its great maw and blue energy shoots out, streaming through nearly a dozen cruisers. 

Lance is whooping and hollering in his ears, just as the new red paladin arrives on his starboard to help him out. Together, the Black and Red Lions careen forward, plasma rays shooting from their tails as the cruisers burst like dying stars. 

“Paladins!” Allura shouts. “I’ve disabled the main boost thruster, but the auxiliary is activating. I think they’re getting ready to… I think they’re going to use their hyper-drive to get out of this system.”

“Keep hitting the auxiliary,” Keith orders. “We’re on our way.”

“Pidge! Hunk! Come in!” Lance yells over the communication link.

It takes a few moments of static for Hunk’s voice to come through strong and healthy.

“We’re here,” Hunk says. Keith lets out a breath of relief. “We cleared the floor. Some of the prisoners are helping us load the stuff into the Lions.”

“Give us five doboshes,” Pidge adds. “Can you give us five?”

“Five it is,” Keith says. He hits his thrusters, followed by Lance. In unison, they swerve and somersault through the debris. Keith spots Allura blasting at the auxiliary boost thruster, hidden just between the outer hull and the primary thruster. 

“You called, princess?” Lance flirts. 

Keith shakes his head, smiling. 

“Thank the Ancients,” Allura says, relieved. “I’ve been trying to use the plasma cannon beams, but they’ve positioned it so that it’s nearly impenetrable.”

“What if we try it all together?” Lance asks. 

“It’s worth a shot,” Keith says, “but we better do it now.”

As he says those words, a purple glow begins to emit again, coiling and building like some fuchsia star about to be born. Keith counts to three aloud and together the three Lions charge up their cannons, hitting the auxiliary thruster in unison. Blue overwhelms purple and the freighter’s thruster unit jolts against the hull. 

Black senses the deep groan of the ship from within. He growls, reaching out to Yellow and Green, urging them to quicken their paladins’ paces.

“Pidge, Hunk, y’all need to hurry. We’ve only got a few more ticks before this thing either blows up or takes y'all with it,” Keith reiterates Black’s message.

“Copy that,” the yellow and green paladins respond together. 

Lance chuckles loudly as they hit the auxiliary thruster with another blast from their mouth cannons. “Keith, did you just say _y’all_? Twice?”

“I told _y’all_ Galra Keith’s funnier than regular Keith,” Hunk’s hearty laughter filters into his communication link.

Keith shakes his head, smiling at their words. “Ha ha… tons of people say y’all. Just focus on your mission.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, a smile edging into her words. “Leave the space cowboy alone.”

With another groan of the cargo freighter that blends in with the noise Keith makes in exasperation, the blue energy of the three plasma beams causes a chunk of the auxiliary thruster to peel away from the hull of the ship. It takes a huge mass of the inner armor plating with it. Whatever lies on the other side will soon be sucked out into the black void. 

“Pick up the pace, paladins,” Allura says anxiously.

“Loading the last of the prisoners aboard,” Hunk confirms and for a moment there is some static echoing on his side of the link that leaves Keith’s forehead sweating. “Pidge! Let’s go!”

“Just one more look…” Pidge’s voice trails off.

“He’s not here,” Hunk shouts. “We got to go.”

Keith’s chest clenches. He knows Pidge is looking for her brother. He knows the feeling all too well. 

“Lance, Allura, fall back,” Keith says, taking the lead just as the rest of the thruster unit is pulled away from the ship. The gaping underbelly starts to unravel as equipment and sentries are sucked through the hole like metal innards from a deep wound. The outside of the ship glows red with contained heat. 

“We’re out,” Hunk says through the link. “Pidge, the prisoners, and I are clear.”

Keith lets out a deep breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. He licks his lips, taking a moment to grip the toggles tighter. His hands sweat within the red armor’s flight gloves. Black purrs deeply, low and rumbling, so comforting against the tension sweeping down his back. 

“Good work, team!” Keith says, urged on by the Black Lion’s message. “Let’s head to the Balmera.”

\--

The Lions of Voltron land on the blue stone of the Balmera. Like a sparkling ocean it glitters, twinkling with its elegance. Though many of the Balmerans still lived deep within its planet, they’ve grown small villages atop its surface. A series of yurts made from the stomach lining of many of their food sources dot the land, the bright crystals decorating the base of the tents. But one of the largest villages is the refugee encampment Shay has been building. Several yurts and a marketplace make up much of the village. Freed slaves of the Galra work alongside the Balmerans, building more villages or helping mine the crystal within while being paid a livable wage and sharing the wealth of the planet itself. Many of the once slaves will want to leave eventually, Keith knows this. But for the time being with war brewing, the Balmera is the safest zone for those who help the coalition from behind-the-scenes.

Keith guzzles down half a bottle of a blue protein drink that one of the Balmerans had passed to him as soon as they settled down in the refugee village. He thanks the Balmeran, swiping his lips clean with the back of his hand and taking in the sights. Hunk is already greeting Shay with a fierce hug that makes Keith’s eyes water, though he won’t admit it. Shay’s rough hand comes up to pat the necklace Hunk hangs around his neck. He remembers when Shay had made sure Keith would give it to Hunk. This is the first time they’ve seen each other in a while. 

Lance and Allura are helping many of the prisoners resettle, making sure that Shay’s grandmother and brother have yurts set up and food available. They’ll have to distribute the resources soon. Half will be given to the Balmera for the villages’ needs, while the other half will be sent to Marmora headquarters. The Blades will definitely find uses for the luxite. 

Keith’s chest clenches at the sight of Pidge. She’s farther away from the others, still next to her Lion. She sits on one of the front paws, her head held in her hands. She’s stressed and probably in serious need of some silence, but Keith’s the leader now. He should show that he’s there for everyone, especially in their time of need. Shiro would not hesitate to comfort Pidge.

Trudging across the dark, rich soil and kicking up small blue crystals, Keith makes his way towards her. 

“Hey, Pidge,” Keith says, almost stilted. He’s so unused to being the anchor of the team. For the deca-phoeb that they’ve been in space, Shiro has been the constant, the one everyone sought out for a steady hand and peace. Keith is not that. He burns like a chunk of ice too close to a roiling star. He’s easily agitated and Keith knows that can spread through the ranks if he’s not careful enough. 

Pidge looks up, her face damp, but she quickly wipes away the tears with the back of her hand. 

“Keith, I’ll be there in a minute,” she says. “Shay wants me to check out their communication tent, so I need—”

“That’s not why I came over to see you,” Keith interrupts. “I wanted to… check in.” He knows it’s almost pointless to say, pointless because he already knows the answer. “Did you find him?”

Pidge wipes at her face again before more tears can spill. “No.”

Keith takes a few steps closer, presses the palm of his hand against her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pidge. We’ll find your brother. I know we will. Team Voltron always finds each other again.”

Pidge lifts her brows. “But… Matt doesn’t even know where we are. What if he’s already on Earth? He’s not a part of Team—”

“He’s part of this family because you’re his sister,” Keith says. “If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of us. And we’ll always help you search for him.” His hand grips her shoulder tightly, her armor creaking under the strength of his Galran grip. He pulls away.

Just before he’s out of her reach, Pidge grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Thanks, Keith,” she says. 

He nods in welcome and helps her stand. They start back towards the refugee village. 

“And Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry. I’m also looking for Shiro. I haven’t forgotten him.”

Her words make him smile, but his chest feels tender with pain. Shiro’s never given up on him, but sometimes he feels himself slipping. Like he’s holding on to something he may never truly get back. What could the Galra be doing to him this very moment? Torturing him? Experimenting on him? Is he even with the Galra? There’s no Ulaz to save him now and any Blades still within the Imperial ranks have not reported back any visuals of Shiro. 

For the next few vargas, the paladins help move resources to the villages and down into the tunnels and caverns of the Balmera as well as send the Lions to their hangers. Pidge rewires the communications tent and instructs Rax how to use the tech consoles with the help of an Olkari ambassador. The living planet’s star is at its zenith position and the heat beats down, creating a hazy blue fog at the horizon. The sudden sound of ships exiting hyper-space makes everyone stand at attention staring up at the green-blue sky as several Marmora ships fly above, the faction’s insignia painted across their hulls.

“Your mother’s people, dear?” Shay’s grandmother croaks from behind him.

“I doubt she’s arriving since she just returned to headquarters after a mission abroad,” Allura answers instead. “But Kolivan and Larka wanted some Blades to install something Slav has been building for the Balmera.”

“What is it?” Shay asks.

“We had something similar to it surrounding Altea,” Allura continues. “It functioned as a proximity alarm to alert the military to any oncoming threat. It’s just that this one has a little bit more _plasma_ power.”

Some of the Marmora cruisers fan out across the planet, dropping incandescent blue plates in the Balmera’s atmosphere where they hover motionless. A large ship descends from the group of cruisers to land beside the Castle of Lions.

“We realized that we can’t always be close to the Balmera if Lotor’s forces decide to come here, but at least with this shield you’ll be able defend the planet until a Marmora strike team can arrive to assist,” says Keith.

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “Kolivan really wants to be able to provide something more to the worlds. Some of them haven’t been too receptive to Marmora help.”

“Well, let’s hope this does the job,” Lance adds.

There is movement at the back hatch of the ship. It releases, dropping to the ground with a low hiss, and a troop of Marmora cadets come out followed by Kolivan and, to Keith’s utter surprise, Slav himself. The strange, multi-armed alien hasn’t come out of headquarters since he arrived phoebs ago. He’s usually holed himself up in the various laboratories and libraries within the asteroid base. When Ulaz holds his history lessons with Keith, the young paladin often sees Slav slithering around and tapping away on screens. He’s a genius, a strange genius with space sickness, but the Blades are lucky to have him.

Kolivan is the first to greet them with a slight bow at the waist to Shay’s grandmother. Slav snakes his way up to the front of the group, hiding behind Kolivan’s long legs. Before Kolivan can even address Keith, Slav pipes up in his usual apprehensive voice.

“There are at least eighteen hundred and fifty-six possibilities that in this reality I slip on a crystal and die,” he deadpans, grimacing down at the ground and clutching the bottom of Kolivan’s coat.

“If only we’d be so lucky,” murmurs one of the cadets behind him, mock annoyance laced in her voice.

Keith recognizes the cadet as Umaala. A young Blade, the same age as Pidge, who was one of the first recruits he had fought during his trials. He had wounded her badly, but she only came back stronger, the stabbing leaving a metallic scar on her hip. 

Lance snorts back his laughter and Umaala stifles a giggle that she’s hoping to keep in, but fails. Keith shakes his head.

Kolivan cuts his gaze, ceasing any laughter from his ranks. He then, with a large gentle hand, steers Slav forward. 

“Why don’t you explain what we’re doing here?” Kolivan gestures towards Shay’s grandmother.

Without any further banter, Slav quickly rehashes his work with the encapsulation shield, a piece of technology that when activated acts as a barrier field and plasma-bomb mortar. And like a proximity alarm, it will alert the closest Marmora unit as well as headquarters and Team Voltron to any enemies in Balmeran space.

“We’re hoping that the encapsulation shields work with every planet we help liberate,” Kolivan explains.

“We, Balmarans, hope these shields will work, too,” Shay’s grandmother says. Her craggy hands move forward to hold one of Kolivan’s gloved hands. “We thank you for your help.”

If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d say that Kolivan is blushing. The leader of the Blade of Marmora has been struggling. For too long they’ve worked behind-the-scenes, espionage and sabotage has been their forte. Helping liberate planets, freeing people; it’s something they couldn’t have done alone. Galran faces are interpreted as oppressors and it is with Voltron’s help that they are now seen as just another group against the Imperials, a group who knows how Zarkon’s regime operates from within. They are an asset to the coalition and Kolivan strives to make sure everyone knows it.

After the blue plates are distributed in the sky, the Blades and Team Voltron ready to leave. It takes Shay and Hunk a few doboshes to say their goodbyes and Keith takes the time to speak with Umaala.

“Did you finish training today?” Keith asks without small talk.

Umaala leans against the hull of the Marmora ship. 

“Hello to you to Kythel,” she says, scanning her communicator. “What do you really want?”

“Is she free for the evening?” he asks, not skipping a beat.

“After training? I think she’s with your sire, why?” Umaala raises an eyebrow. She lets out a chuff. “Please don’t tell me you’re worried? You don’t have to be. They just got back. They’re not going anywhere. You need to relax.”

“You should try saying that more slowly,” Lance says from behind them, giving Umaala a smirk and a wink. “Rodeo boy may not understand what relaxation means.”

Umaala stifles another giggle. 

Keith chuffs. “I’m serious.”

“If you’re really this worried, you should just put a tracking device on your parents,” Umaala comments, ears flicking under her hood. “ _And_ I’m serious, too. You need to relax. Kolivan isn’t going to train you until you stop being so agitated.”

Keith grits his teeth. “Yeah, I know.” He’s been putting his Blade training off ever since he began searching for Shiro. Ever since he changed into his Galra skin, he’s been on edge and the leader of the Blades has noticed. 

Umaala pushes herself off the hull to gently squeeze Keith’s shoulder. 

“Really, Prince Kythel,” she says. “You need to relax. You should come to the communal bath. Some group grooming would do you good.”

“Please tell me that invitation is extended to Lancey Lance,” the new red paladin grins, slinging an arm around Keith’s shoulder. 

Umaala grins, winking. “Most definitely.” In a split second, Umaala straightens up, pushing away from the hull, as Kolivan starts up the ramp of the ship. 

“The communal bath hall will have to wait, cadet,” Kolivan says. “I need the paladins to head to the Record for debriefing in three vargas.”

Lance whines, peeling away from Keith to head over to the Castle of Lions. Kolivan still hasn’t moved and is staring at Keith. 

“Hunk said that you did well in your role as leader today,” Kolivan says, cocking his head. The corner of his lip lifts subtly. “Your mother will be proud of you, Kythel.”

A strange heat fills his chest as he watches Kolivan disappear into the ship. He feels accomplished, yet lightheaded with giddiness. He doesn’t need to look at Umaala to know that she’s smiling at him.

“Shut up,” he says, scuffing the dark soil with the toe of his boot. 

“Whatever you say, Prince Kythel, whatever you say.”

\--

When they arrive back at headquarters, Keith gives into the sense that maybe, just maybe, this asteroid has become home for him. The Castle of Lions is portable and easily maneuverable in space, but headquarters is solid ground. It’s a base hidden away from the rest of the void. Away from the remnants of Zarkon’s regime and Lotor’s allies. The paladins are safe here. 

Coran and the paladins head to the mess hall in need of sustenance and promising to meet up with him at the Record in two vargas. Keith searches for his parents. Despite everything, he’s mildly surprised that his teammates have taken to the Blade of Marmora and his parents so well. Hunk spends a lot of time in the hanger usually around Keith’s father. And Pidge is always eager to see Larka. But then again, they’re both interested in similar topics of science, but that’s as far as he really cares to understand. He only knows that Pidge spends a lot of time in Larka’s laboratories, fiddling with machines and stinking of chemicals when they both finally emerge. Lance enjoys the amount of time they spend at the Mamora base. He came from a large family and although their original group was small, the added Blades brings back a buzzing atmosphere that Lance is accustomed to. Even Coran has grown to like the base, a bit more settled in the fact that there are other older adults to speak with other than the young adults he’s been surrounded by since he’s come out of hibernation. Allura is the only one who seems truly hesitant, but Keith feels that has more to do with becoming a paladin than it does the Galran faces. She no longer hides away from Larka or Keith, and during dinner one evening Allura goes through the Altean royal family tree with Keith to see where he sits on its branches. 

Keith is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize he’s passing by the gymnasium. He only recognizes his parents sparring out of the corner of his eye and he stops short. He crosses the threshold just in time to see Larka grapple forward, shift her weight, and flip her husband over her back. Thace hits the mat with a loud thud and a painful grunt. 

“I was letting you win,” Thace says, with a dopey smile on his face. 

“Doubtful, old man,” Larka smirks, swiping at her forehead with the back of her hand before helping Thace up from the floor.

If it’s one thing Keith has grown to appreciate, it’s his parents’ banter. They seem happy together, even though there was nearly two decades of them being apart. Their love is still thriving. He supposes he could have been dealt a set of horrible cards in the parent department. He could have been Sendak’s son and if that would have happened, he would have happily struck the eject button before Shiro did. 

“You both look pretty old to me,” Keith interrupts, flashing a small smile.

His parents look over at him, not even shocked that he’s been eavesdropping.

“Ooh, big words coming from our little kit,” Larka teases, nudging Thace’s upper arm.

Keith’s cheeks flush as he walks closer.

“You’re embarrassing him,” Thace admonishes. “And don’t even think about flipping him over your back either. He looks too worn out for that.”

“How _did_ the mission go?” Larka asks, more serious now.

Keith shrugs, looking away for a moment. “We took out a lot of cruisers and we were able to free the prisoners, but we also got some resources. There was luxite aboard the cargo freighter. Coran is sending it to the forge.”

Thace’s eyes widen. “How did the Imperials get a hold of luxite?”

“Maybe there’s a depot,” Larka answers. “They could have moved a huge amount from Daibazaal before…” Her words trail off as she waves her hand flippantly.

“We’ll talk about it at the Record,” Thace says.

“What about Shiro and Matt?” Larka asks. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” Keith shrugs again. “Pidge was pretty upset this time. I don’t blame her. Every time we find something, it shows up empty. You guys still have Blades in positions at Central Command. If they were to find them, would they report back to base.”

“For two humans caged at Central Command or any other Imperial outpost,” Thace states, “ _yes_. Not many humans in space. And the ones that are happen to be paladins of Voltron.”

“You and Pidge must have faith,” his mother says, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find them. Our resources are at Voltron’s disposal.”

“And speaking of Blades in positions,” Thace interrupts. “Did you speak with Kolivan about your training?”

Keith almost wants to roll his eyes. “Please, not now,” he groans.

“Kythel, we’re not rushing you,” Larka starts, moving her hand from his shoulder to rest on his cheek and swipe her thumb gently over his cheekbone. “But it would do you some good to get more training in.”

“Umaala thinks I need to relax more,” Keith says. “She says that’s the reason why Kolivan hasn’t taken me on as yet.” 

“Umaala is a pain in the ass of an apprentice,” Larka says, rolling her eyes. “Antok has more patience for her.”

_Patience yields focus._

Thace has been silent during the exchange, staring back and forth between mother and child. 

“Your father and I will talk to Kolivan,” Larka continues.

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t _want_ special treatment. When I’m ready, I’m ready, I guess.”

His mother looks like she wants to say something else, but Thace puts a hand on her shoulder, tugging her back. 

“When he’s ready, he’s ready, Larka,” Thace chuffs. 

Larka chews on her lower lip, before slowly nodding in agreement. His parents work well with each other. His mother has a fiery disposition, easily agitated with a quick tongue, not unlike Keith really. But his father balances that out; he’s softer and calmer, guiding Keith’s mother rather than shutting her down during one of her rarely seen tirades. Another thought of Shiro makes his chest sore with longing. 

He falls easily into his parents’ embrace, chuffing softly as they rub their faces into his hair in hopes of scent marking him before they send him on his way to eat with his team. He doesn’t miss the worried expressions on their faces as he turns away.

~~

The remnants of Central Command look like a decaying piece of garbage. A perfectly smooth piece of garbage, but a piece of garbage nonetheless. The air is stagnant and in need of clean recycling. The sub-lights are purple and wholly annoying. There is nothing he delights in more than the pastime of nitpicking his father’s regime. Lofty ambitions will get him nowhere, perhaps aiming close to the ground will help his position.

Lotor strides down the dimly lit corridor, carnassial teeth clenched so hard that he can taste the blood from the inside of his cheeks. He has plans to organize and people to eliminate. But here he is, at the beck and call of this witch like he’s some peon eager to please.

“Prince Lotor,” Acxa, his chief general, appears at his side, keeping up with his long gait. 

“What is it, Acxa?” he croons.

“Ezor just witnessed a commander speaking with the high priestess about the Emperor,” she says.

“And? Why should I care?” His heart flutters beneath his chest.

“Commander Throk is the one who has been discussing a coup. He worked alongside Commander Prorok and Commander Thace,” Acxa explains. “Perhaps he wishes vengeance against the high priestess and the Empire for torturing his comrades.”

Lotor scoffs. 

“You know very well that that is not the case, Acxa,” Lotor smirks. “I doubt he cares about the robeast and the spy.” They’re nearing his personal quarters, but he wants to finish this conversation before he refreshes himself with a shower. “Make sure to remind Narti to keep Kova close. I don’t want the witch around him.”

Acxa raises an eyebrow at the odd request, but does not question it. 

“And of Commander Throk?” Acxa prompts. “Should we continue the surveillance of him and his allies?”

“Yes,” Lotor says as he scans his palm against the identification pad. Thankfully, it clicks, remembering him from long ago. “And make sure Zethrid doesn’t—”

“Punch someone?” Acxa supplies.

Lotor smirks, “Yes, _punch someone_. Please keep her out of the arena until we’re finished here.”

Acxa nods in affirmation before turning away. 

“And Acxa?” She stops, looking back. “Please remember that I want the four of you to relax as well. I don’t need my top generals stressed over our current location.”

“Thank you, Prince Lotor,” she smiles, leaving him.

Lotor’s door slides shut behind him and he almost leans against it in relief. A moment of peace alone. Not that he dislikes his generals and loyalists, but the quiet is brief aboard his own ship and with his father incapacitated, he doesn’t have anyone breathing down his neck. 

His quarters are just as spartan as he left them a little over twenty deca-phoebs ago. Most of the room is taken up by a large bed stacked with cushy pillows and warm blankets. There’s a small, empty bookcase in the corner with a utilitarian desk and stool beside it. His wardrobe is empty as he had taken every fabric and piece of armor before he had disappeared into self-exile. The only thing he left behind that held any sentimental value was an old tablet sitting on the bedside table. It looks as if the servants still clean in here, as there isn’t a layer of thick dust on any of the furniture. 

Lotor walks over to the tablet, eager to turn it on. When he presses the activation button, the screen blinks once to say the battery is too low and it turns off again. The prince chuffs in aggravation. Placing the tablet back on the table, he starts the arduous task of undressing from his armor down to his thin flight suit beneath until all he’s standing in his undergarments. He looks at himself in the adjacent mirror. Long gone is the willowy boy of his youth. He’s filled out with lean muscle, sleek and brutal. Not as brutish as his father, but agile and quick like an Altean. Scars mar his sinewy chest, evidence of long hours spent training and sparring. The most recent scar looks raw and chapped, a harsh vibrant shade of red-violet against his lavender skin.

There are lines of tension on his forehead. Most of the time they’re hidden from view, but here in the privacy of his quarters, he can see it. Exhaustion, irritation, and arrogance that weighs too heavily on his heart. He tucks the thick forelock of bangs behind a pointed ear. Thankfully, his face doesn’t show his age, unlike the rest of his imprudent family. They’ve all shown their archaic faces, so battered and bruised from the chaos they’ve created. 

Sighing aloud, Lotor takes the next varga to wash up, spending most of his time under the hot spray of water. He gently wrings out his hair before coiling it in a topknot, the forelock falling across his right eye. He redresses in a clean flight suit that the servants left in his wardrobe while he showered. Even his armor has been buffed out. He hurries to put every piece back in place. 

His plans are coming to fruition, deca-phoebs and deca-phoebs of patiently waiting. Tenacious preparations and lucrative negotiations made with less than reputable members of the Empire. Many of those people not lasting more than a phoeb after completing whatever task Lotor needed accomplished. And with his father now comatose and bedridden, Lotor has the opportunity to complete a major portion of his campaign. Even with Voltron fighting to free the people, it seems that things have delicately fallen into his lap. From Allura commissioning a Teludav from the Olkari and Larka’s Blade of Marmora showcasing their absurd idiosyncrasies, they’ve shown him exactly what he wanted to know. They are disorganized and constantly fragmented. He only wishes he could properly test out their capabilities. 

“That will have to happen sometime later,” Lotor mutters under his breath as he swipes open the door of his quarters. For now, he must dabble in the art of public humiliation.

~~

There’s a headache pounding just behind his eyes. He tries to bite his tongue in a vain attempt to distract himself from the dull throbbing, but it only makes the pain flare up again. He’s only heard bits and pieces of the debriefing, opting for Lance to take the lead while he sits back and subtly rubs his temples. Perhaps not too subtly as he keeps catching Ulaz’s curious gaze.

At some point during the meeting, Hunk brings up the fact that the Galra Empire seems to be collapsing at an alarming rate despite Lotor’s few assemblies of pomp and circumstance and his resurgence into the political field.

“And it’s all thanks to Voltron,” Kolivan says. “The Legendary Defender has not just given the Blade of Marmora the courage to fight more openly, but many societies outside of the Empire, too. We can only hope that more fighters come forth to join the coalition.”

“Coalitions have always been the backbone of Voltron,” Allura adds. “We mustn’t forget how those alliances helped Voltron aid other worlds that needed help in the past.” 

The emotions that stir his stomach feels like the moment when one reaches the peak of a roller coaster. The heighten tension in one’s chest, the chasm of air and endlessness that fills one’s gut, and then the plummet forward over the edge. Through the flowing connection, Keith feels Black pull at him, egging him closer. He stands, knocking back his chair.

“Keith?” Pidge asks, looking up at him. 

“Something’s wrong with Black,” he says as the Lion growls. The sensation reverberates behind his eyes and chases through his body. “He’s calling me.”

The pressure relieves itself from behind his eyes at the realization. He rushes out of the room. Keith ignores the noises of confusion behind him, only heads for the lift that leads to the surface of the asteroid and out to the landing pad. He races through the Castle intent on reaching the bridge so he can hurry to Black’s hanger. He only wishes there was a better path to make his way down here. He’s hurriedly pulling on his helmet and racing into Black’s wide-open maw when he hears Allura’s voice coming through his communication link. 

“Keith? Keith? What is it?” she asks frantically as if she is running towards the Castle, following him out.

Keith waits until the narrow gap is clear to leave the headquarters’ eerie location. He taps on the navigation console until Black blinks an insignia of a bizarre but familiar anomaly. 

“Keith?” This time it’s Hunk. “Buddy, what’s—”

“Guys!” Keith yells. “I think it’s Shiro!”


	2. Observational

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for Marmora Banter and Mac and Cheese.

Keith sits at the edge of the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of Shiro’s chest as he sleeps. His right eyebrow twitches, forehead creasing with every deep breath he takes. His face looks worn and tired. There’s a fading bruise on his right jaw, shadowed over by his growing beard. With a hesitant hand, Keith carefully pushes back some of the lank, long hair that has stuck to Shiro’s sweaty forehead. 

Shiro jolts upright, his head knocking against Keith’s extended hand. He pants, breathing heavily as he screws his eyes shut. With his pupils blown wide, Shiro blinks away the misty fragments of a nightmare.

“Shiro,” Keith says, warmly, his hand pressed gently against Shiro’s chest. “You’re home, Shiro. It’s alright. You’re home.” 

Taking gasping breaths, Shiro slowly opens his eyes. His gaze roves over Keith for only a moment before blinking again. Shiro recoils briefly before a look of recognition crosses over his face. Keith doesn’t know if he could take it; the rejection and pain from Shiro of all people. Keith pulls back his hand. Shiro immediately tugs him back, keeping the hand firmly planted on his chest. 

Keith’s breath hitches in his throat and he bows his head forward. Shiro shifts closer, pressing his forehead against Keith’s in silent comfort. He feels Shiro’s calloused hand thread its way through his thick hair. Even as the grip is almost painful, Keith does not mind. He seeks out this closeness. He never wants to lose Shiro ever again. He knows he thinks that too often, but he’d rather feel this momentary discomfort than ever live without him.

“I-I know I look different,” Keith says, voice strained and tight. His eyes feel wet, but he blinks back the tears. He doesn’t want to cry right now. 

Shiro pulls away, his one hand still buried in Keith’s hair, the other hand lifting to hold Keith’s cheek. He thumbs over Keith’s cheekbone. Shiro is slowly scrutinizing him, watching his strange eyes and purple coloring, the Altean ears that perk up as Shiro scratches behind one gently. Shiro gives Keith one of his lopsided smiles. 

“No,” Shiro starts, “you look beautiful.”

Keith can’t hold back his tears as he smiles back. Shiro leans forward before catching Keith’s lip in a warm, wet kiss. He tastes the salt from his tears and the agony lifts from his shoulders. His hands curl against Shiro’s chest just as the human pulls him closer. Their size different has changed now and it takes Shiro a moment to realize it, but it doesn’t hinder him from tugging Keith onto his lap. He immediately winces and Keith rolls off him. Shiro was battered and bruised when they found him and even though the sleep pod did its duty, Shiro must still feel tender. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, breathless. “I forgot about your injury.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Shiro says, still holding on to Keith’s face. “I got a bit overexcited.”

Keith smiles, but it quickly falls from his face.

“Shiro?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Keith asks, frowning. “You were without oxygen when we managed to reach you and you came to for only a moment. Even though you were just babbling, you didn’t say much.”

“How long was I out?” Shiro pulls away, running a hand through his long hair. 

“You spent four quintants in a sleep pod,” Keith answers. “We just moved you back here last night.”

“I’m still in the Castle, right?” 

Keith nods, “But we’re at Marmora HQ on the landing pad.”

“Landing pad?”

Keith realizes Shiro has missed so much. The construction of the landing pad, the coalitions between freed planets, even the change in Keith’s appearance. It’s been so many phoebs and he has a lot to catch up on.

“Shiro, what’s the last thing you remember?” 

The former black paladin’s forehead scrunches in concentration as if he’s trying to recall what had happened. Sweat beads his upper lip and Keith wants to swipe his tongue across it. He wants to surge forward and kiss Shiro again until all he tastes is the woods and the sky. 

“I was in the Black Lion,” Shiro suddenly says, his gaze lifting to Keith’s. “One moment I was fighting Zarkon and the next I was on some lab table on some medical outpost.”

“A medical outpost?” Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Or it may have been a freighter?” Shiro groans. “I-I can’t remember.”

There’s an anguished expression across Shiro’s face and it makes Keith’s chest expand with guilt, pulsing around his heart. Shiro raises a hand to wipe Keith’s drying tears. 

“Hey, Keith,” he says, “it’s okay. You’re right. I am home. That’s all that matters right now.”

Crying around others is a rare thing for Keith. But here with Shiro, he feels like he’s falling, like he’s craving intimacy, touch-starved and sore around the edges. He closes his eyes as he feels Shiro caressing his cheekbone.

“You know,” Shiro smirks. “I almost think you’re cuter all purple like this.”

Keith can’t help but smile through watery eyes again. He takes a deep breath through his nose and leans into Shiro’s touch.

“The team wants to see you,” Keith murmurs. “And I’m sure Tolak wants to give you a physical.” 

“Tolak?”

Keith straightens up. “The chief medic for the Blades. I don’t think you’ve met him as yet. He helped out a lot when I… you know… when I first shapeshifted.”

Shiro chews on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay with this, right?” Keith asks. “You’re okay with how I look?”

Shiro face softens. “Of course, Keith.”

The Galran hybrid swallows down his own hesitation before nodding. 

“You should rest,” Keith says. “When you’re ready, you can find us on the bridge.”

Keith kisses Shiro’s forehead before he leaves, watching as the human leans back onto his pillow and shuts his eyes. Keith doesn’t know when he started looking at the rest of the team like they were the aliens, but perhaps he’s just comfortable around the Galran faces. With one final look at Shiro, he heads to the bridge.

~~

“He should be held under observation until his memory fully comes back,” Larka says, pacing back and forth. She probably looks anxious, but she can’t help it. Being held under observation would be the proper protocol for any of the Blades that were captured by the Empire and were subsequently rescued. She must remind herself that Shiro is not a Blade and it is not in their jurisdiction to insist upon it, but still… it roils her stomach to think that he can’t recall anything.

“I don’t necessarily agree, but we should keep an eye on him,” Ulaz comments from his seat around the table. “If nothing else.”

Larka grits her teeth. “Tolak should give him a full examination.”

“I don’t think that’s the safest route, Larka,” Thace says. “This is the second time he’s been held captive by the druids. He’s no doubt hiding how frightened he truly is.”

“When you released him the first time,” Larka turns back to Ulaz, “did he suffer from memory loss?”

“Somewhat,” Ulaz nods. “I was in a rush to get him out of there. Once his pod deployed, I focused on getting off that base and returning to Thaldycon. I had no time to give him a psych evaluation.”

She is about to say more, when Ulaz continues.

“Larka, you know as well as I do that the druidic sciences causes cognitive impairment.”

“And that’s why he should be kept under observation until Tolak thinks he’s ready,” she says abruptly.

When Ulaz and Thace share a knowing look with one another, Larka turns to Kolivan who has leaned back in his seat watching the exchange.

“You’ve been overly silent,” she says. “What do you think?”

Kolivan chuckles. “I think you’re being overprotective because Shiro is Kythel’s mate.”

Ulaz hides the smile breaking across his face behind his hand, but Thace does no such thing. He laughs aloud. 

Kolivan raises his hand, still smiling. “ _But_ , I do think your words hold some merit. Tolak can give a full examination and we can keep an eye on him from a distance. I’ll assign someone to the Castle if you can persuade Allura to allow it.”

Larka lets out a loud chuff of thanks.

“However, I’m not keeping him under any extended observation. He’s paladin, even if he isn’t piloting. Perhaps some rest and time on the Castle’s bridge will help clear his head. But that’s a matter the _paladins_ must tackle. Am I understood?”

Larka nods. Talk of an examination quells her anxious nerves. The doors to the meeting hall slide open revealing Antok. His mask is off and he’s eating from a large bowl.

“You all missed what Hunk made,” he laughs, scooping up another mouthful. He looks at the four of them, tail gently whipping behind him as if sensing the tension in the air. He plops himself down in an empty seat. “Oh no. What happened? Someone has a sad face.”

Larka rolls her eyes.

“Larka’s dam senses are tingling,” Ulaz says, peering over at Antok’s food. The long tailed Galra nonchalantly passes Ulaz the bowl.

“Oh, really? Does it have to do with—”

“Shut up,” Larka hisses, her cheeks flushing. “What is that?” 

Antok shakes his head at her poor use of misdirection, but he answers anyways. “Hunk calls it mac and cheese.”

“Cheese?” Thace raises an eyebrow. “Like from milk?”

“He said they have a Kaltenecker aboard the Castle and that Lance milks it regularly,” Antok shrugs.

“A Kaltenecker?” Larka repeats. 

“You mean an Earth cow?” Kolivan confirms.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ulaz says around a mouthful of red grain noodles and warm melted cheese. “Hunk needs to make more.” 

Just as Larka sits down at the table, the door slides open once more to reveal a female Galra dressed in scratched up Marmora armor. Fatigue weighs heavily on her dark brow. Her blue-violet skin is flushed with exertion and her eyes glow a dark yellow-orange.

“Kolivan,” she says, “I just returned from my mission and was debriefed at the Record.”

“What about your brother? Have you made any headway in communicating with him?” Kolivan asks, suddenly standing up and placing his palms flat on the table. 

Larka’s gut clenches. This was one of their current problems. The Blades were being spread too thin. Although the coalition is blossoming, their own resistance fighters have been targeted more than usual. It’s as if the Empire is on high alert for Marmora uniforms and the druids are culling their ranks of any undercover agents and spies.

“No. Communication is still dark. I can only assume that he is still on the colony.”

“We will need that information soon,” Kolivan says. “The Balmera is being used for refugees and planet Olkarion is utilized as a hub for other rebel groups and construction. We need to know how destabilized Gal is in order to reclaim it.”

“I understand,” she says.

“Dorma, once Gal is reclaimed we will be able to move our headquarters to a place where other rebel fighters can travel to as a point of transportation,” Larka says. “Your brother’s next message will be what defines one of our most critical moves against the Empire.”

“I understand, my lady,” Dorma says. “What of news on the prospective warship?”

“Slav is still building the Teludav,” Ulaz says from the bowl of food. “We’re having the science team and the green and yellow paladins review the schematics.” 

Dorma grimaces, upper lip curling. “What the quiznak are you eating?”

“Mac and cheese,” Antok murmurs before grabbing the bowl from Ulaz to finish the last few noodles. 

“Ignore them,” Larka rolls her eyes. “But Ulaz is right. The schematics still need to be reviewed. It won’t be built for some time now and we’re going to have to focus on the coalitions.”

“And what of Lotor?” Dorma asks, still side-eyeing the near-empty bowl of food. “Do we know his current whereabouts?”

“We’ve received radio chatter near relay points close to Central Command and their mobile ship,” Kolivan says. “Last we heard, he was on route back to Imperial headquarters.”

“On route _back_?” Dorma raises an eyebrow, finally sitting in the empty seat beside Larka.

“Apparently, he’s been traveling back and forth from Central Command to an unknown location in an unmarked quadrant. We sent a mobile team to survey the area, but—”

“They never returned,” Thace interrupts, finally speaking up. “I was doing some thinking. Lotor has always been one step ahead of us all along and he will probably continue to be one step ahead. There’s no doubt that he was summoned to assume command by the druids after Zarkon’s defeat. Commanders are squabbling among each other for leadership. With one speech, Lotor rallied many of them under his control. But… but is he aware of who Haggar is?”

“I don’t think so,” Larka shrugs. “Allura said that it looked like the witch didn’t even recognize she wasn’t Galran. Whatever happened to the Altean named Honerva, she’s gone... I doubt Lotor would have recognized her. Especially if _I_ hadn’t. I spent the most time around Haggar when we were on the other side.”

“What if we did a full front assault on their headquarters?” Thace posits. “Strike while they’re still recovering. Just one single blow to take out the current leader.”

“And do what?” Kolivan asks. “Expose Zarkon’s adviser as his deceased wife?”

“No,” Ulaz says, “I think Thace is on to something. With all our knowledge, we’ve been physically fighting in the shadows for so long. Lotor _has_ always been one step ahead. He’s also been using psychological warfare ever since he returned to the Imperial fold.”

“He enjoys playing with his food,” Larka murmurs. “Zarkon didn't train soldiers to think, he wants them to fight without question. Lotor knows this.”

“And that is the one piece of information we have over him,” Dorma adds. “If we infiltrate with an assault like that, it could destabilize the unity he’s attempting to create. Expose Haggar's identity to Lotor, take him out as leader, and reclaim Gal while they're in chaos.”

“Stop,” Kolivan says, running his hand over his face. “This only works if he isn’t aware. What if he is? What then? We are already spread thin. The newest recruits aren’t even fully prepared for an infiltration of that level.”

Larka licks her lips, her stomach clenching. Kolivan is right. And what if planting a piece of information like that doesn’t have the desired effect. Lotor could take that moment to vanquish what Blades they have left. Who knows what happened to the missing mobile team. 

“He hardly showed grief when our mother died,” she says, quietly. “I doubt he’ll show surprise now. He’s gotten what he’s wanted. Zarkon may not be truly dead, but Lotor is now Emperor with the power of the Imperial fleet behind him. If the druids are culling any Blades from their ranks, we are better off figuring out what he’s doing in that unmarked quadrant than revealing my mother’s resurrection. But if you all truly want to go through with this, if we’re going to infiltrate Central Command with a full front assault, it has to be to behead both Zarkon and Lotor, _not_ in hopes of him feeling grief.” 

The silence is unwavering for a few ticks.

“If I know Lotor the way I think I do,” Larka continues, “sooner or later he will turn friends into enemies just as he did before his self-exile. He’ll hide away for several deca-phoebs and then he’ll return again to begin his chaos theory anew. If we don’t want to deal with him anymore, kill him and be done with it.”

She meets Thace’s scrutinizing gaze. She’s knows what he wants to say. But he won’t, not in front of everyone else.

“Antok, Ulaz, finish your duties for the quintant. Dorma, you should head to the bath hall,” Kolivan orders. “We’ll be having a meeting with the paladins first thing tomorrow. Get some rest.”

With an uncertain awkwardness, the three Blades hurry from the meeting hall. When the doors finally shut, Larka reels forward.

“Are you serious?” Larka hisses. “You just returned from Central Command phoebs ago and now you want to lead an assault for a ludicrous gamble. A theory that may not even be true.”

“You know, sometimes you talk like your father,” Thace says, rubbing his temples.

Larka ignores the jibe. “You would be dead if Kythel didn’t drag you out of that control room.”

“Lotor is trying to integrate the Empire to be more accepting to hybrids. He’ll attract more attention that way. He’s never held leadership like your father or you or Kolivan or Allura. Sooner or later, he will stop playing this game,” Thace claims. “Why not bring that about sooner? Figuring out what he’s after by using Haggar—”

“Do you really think he cares about those soldiers? He’s manipulating them.”

“All the more reason for us to sway him.”

“Sway him? Sway him where?”

“You’re callously talking about beheading Lotor.”

“How many times has he tried to have me assassinated in the past six thousand years? Isn’t _he_ the main reason we left our son on some water world in some distant quadrant far away? And now you want to manipulate him in to joining our cause? How many of our own soldiers have we sacrificed to bring down Zarkon’s regime? Don't their lives mean—” 

“Enough!” Kolivan shouts. “This is probably what he wants. He wants Marmora to collapse. The both of you have made your points and while I do agree with Thace, I don’t think we should infiltrate now. Our focus should remain on Lotor’s motivations outside Central Command. We have a handful of Blades already on the inside. We won’t put unnecessary pressure on them with an immediate frontal attack. We wait for Hazar. Let us hope he is recruiting as well as gathering the required intel to take down Gal’s current government and military.”

Kolivan’s jaw tenses as he looks the two of them over. “Should I get you different field partners or can you both work together?”

Though she is still fuming, Larka cannot stay angry at Thace. She knows he means well and she knows that playing psychological warfare may be the only thing that brings Lotor down. He may have a calm temperament in the face of an adversary, but the boy doubts himself in private.

“We’re fine,” Thace says as Larka nudges his knee playfully with her foot beneath the table. Her husband smiles back. 

Kolivan rolls his eyes. “You idiots play too much,” he sighs. “And the three of them are still eavesdropping.”

There’s the sound of stumbling and thumping on the other side of the doors and a shrill screech of _quiznak_ from Dorma as the three Blades struggle to scamper away.

~~

His father lays in the opulent bed, cradled among the electric wiring and gray tubing that pumps purple quintessence into his body. It may prolong his life force for now, but he only looks like a graying, drying husk. Again. Lotor’s upper lip curls in derision, a low chuff forming deep in his throat, his chest rumbling.

“So, they nearly killed you,” Lotor mocks. “I would have thought with all your grand power, that you would have managed to extinguish Voltron. I watched from afar as your insanity nearly destroyed this Empire. _Again._ ”

His father’s face glows purple from the canisters of quintessence. 

“I almost feel sorry for you,” he purrs, hands clenched at his sides. He wants to grab his father’s neck for the second time as he nears death. He wants to crush his father’s larynx and trachea, watching the old man’s hands twitch with the last moments of life. He wants to watch as the great Emperor Zarkon, the original black paladin, chokes on his own breath. To watch him struggle against his own mortality. “You’re slipping, Papa.”

The doors slide open, almost obnoxiously, as Haggar enters the room. He doesn’t turn around, but he hears her gait falter as she nears him.

“Prince Lotor?” Her archaic voice makes his blood boil, but he presses his lips into a firm line. “Did you make another speech? I need you to lead, not flatter every commander here. And not to hover over your father’s bedside.” Her tone is wary. He’s not one to openly argue, not when he can persuade, but this druid is not someone he can falsely praise. 

“You were the one to call me, witch,” he says, relaxing his hands. “I’ll lead in my own way. Camaraderie is something foreign to my father. It is how I lived my life and I will continue to do so. His violent methods have chased many away. It is why so many have joined the terrorists and rebels.”

Haggar takes a step forward, but halts as Lotor turns to her.

“Father’s overzealous nature has given Larka an opportunity to reveal herself, to align herself with Voltron. I was hoping that she was dead by now after she and her terrorists blew up that transportation hub fifteen deca-phoebs ago, but she was always wilier than I gave her credit for.”

“Perhaps,” Haggar rasps, “I should have sent for her instead.”

The barb stings, but he ignores her words.

“And you, Haggar, you allowed a terrorist on this base,” he says, “It’s almost ironic how it was the same one who wooed my sister.” 

“What?” Haggar grits her teeth. He feels like he’s won an argument, but the satisfaction is fleeting. 

“Commander Prorok?” He raises an eyebrow. “No. No. That’s not him. Commander Thace. How long did you torture him? Not long enough it seems.”

He’s had enough. Teasing the old witch doesn’t feel as good as he wishes it did. Brushing past her, he heads for the door. 

“Make sure you don’t mess up again,” he says as the doors open before him. Lotor doesn’t stop to hear the high priestess. He only heads to his private hanger where his generals await his command.

“How did it go, Prince Lotor?” Zethrid growls.

“As well as I expected,” he says. “We’re leaving.”

“What are your plans?” asks Ezor.

“I want to see Voltron with my own eyes.”

~~

“So, is this going to be a thing you do now?” Keith asks from his new seat on the bridge. He taps his finger against one of the screens. 

“What do you mean?” Thace counters, leaning over to touch the screen as well. “You need to upload the information.”

Keith bats his father’s hand away and presses the loading button. “I mean, is there a particular reason why you thought that you and Umaala had to come on this mission. We’re just helping to transfer medical supplies.”

“Umaala is here because your mother wants a Blade aboard the Castle and she needs experience,” Thace explains, tersely. “I’m here… because your mother wants me aboard the Castle.”

“You’re just going to keep giving me cryptic answers, aren’t you?” Keith asks.

“Yes.” Thace sighs. He doesn’t want to lie to his son. “Your mother wants me to talk to Allura for her.”

Keith lowers his voice and raises his eyebrows at Thace. “About what?”

“She wants to organize a coalition meeting on Puig,” he says.

“Why didn’t she bring this up at the meeting this morning?” Keith asks.

“She didn’t have the idea until later,” Thace answers. “She’s too worried about the Blades and the idea of Lotor returning. She’s fixated on it.”

“How far are we from the pickup zone?” Shiro asks, from the front console, beside Coran. 

“Fifteen doboshes out,” Lance answers from his seat. He’s draped over the short length of the seat, his legs thrown across one of the arms. “How come we aren’t moving them with us? Shouldn’t those people be on the Balmera or—”

“They want to remain in the field,” Coran interrupts, but his voice stalls as he looks out the front window.

Thace looks over, his eyes widening. The bridge grows quiet. Whatever was left of the pickup zone is now a sprawling debris field of twisted metal.

“What happened?” Hunk whispers from his seat.

“I thought you said _fifteen_ doboshes?” Umaala asks, walking closer to where Lance sits now upright. 

“It said it on the screen,” he says, his mouth ajar.

“Well it’s saying we’re right here,” Allura replies from her dais. “These are the correct coordinates, right Pidge?”

Pidge, curiously silent, taps away furiously on her own screen, her eyeglasses glinting. 

“I’m getting some interference,” she murmurs, but whatever she’s about to say, her words are caught off.

The entire Castle jolts forward sending the team to the floor. Thace grabs his son’s arm, hauling him up as another jolt sends them back to the floor. 

“Coran!” Allura shouts. “Particle barrier!”

Even while she slides her own controls upwards, Coran stands at attention working on his own consoles. The proximity alert blares wildly and the bridge is a flurry of disorganized movements. Thace moves forward to help Coran. 

“What’s going on? Who’s shooting at us?” 

Coran’s hand hovers over a blinking blue button.

“Someone is hailing us,” he says.

Without a thought, Shiro slams down on Coran’s hand and the video feed brightens across the glass in front of them. The screen pixelates before the high definition video feed of Lotor appears. 

“Paladins of Voltron,” Lotor says. Thace’s chest tightens. Lotor looks like he’s still the same boy from long ago. “It seems you’re too late to help your friends. You should know they fought well.”

Despite the particle barrier protecting the Castle of Lions, it still rumbles and vibrates as another shot is fired. 

Lotor’s smile only grows. The screen falters, going black before the video feed disappears all together.

“He’s egging us on,” Pidge says. 

“What should we do?” Hunk asks. 

Keith leans across his seat. “We’ve had enough practice. Let’s suit up.”

The four other paladins head to their designated hangers. Just as Keith is about to flick the control to send him to his own, Shiro places a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure this is the right choice? This is the first time you’re going to fight Lotor.”

Keith nods, smiling softly.

“Be careful,” Shiro says.

“Always.”

It takes only two doboshes for the Lions to make their way out of their hangers only to be immediately put under suppressive fire. The Castle of Lions provides cover, but Lotor’s forces are too great. 

“They need to pull back,” Shiro says under the radio chatter coming from the Lions. “This was a set up. We need to leave. Keith! Do you hear me? Pull back.”

Thace feels Umaala stride up to his side. 

“He’s right. They need to pull back. Lotor was waiting for this.”

Thace ignores her. He feels helpless as Shiro bellows out orders and the other paladins fire upon Lotor’s cruisers. More debris is added to the fray creating a great reef of plasma and metal. The particle barrier jostles before it stabilizes again, hit by another one of Lotor’s plasma cannons. The skirmish lasts only a few more doboshes before the imperial ships leave, blasting forward into hyper-space. 

The bridge is eerily quiet. Thace and Coran share a look as Shiro’s hands ball into fists. 

“He was testing us,” Shiro says. “He was testing us and we should have left.”

“We played right into his hand?” Hunk asks over the communication link. “What did he gain from that test?”

“He knows you were disorganized and unprepared for that type of assault,” Shiro says. “Get back to the Castle.”

\--

Nearly everyone hears the arguing from within Shiro’s quarters. Lance had gone in to mediate a few vargas ago, but it hadn’t gone well and he left the room with his hands thrown up in the air. There’s a tenseness aboard the Castle, an uncomfortable atmosphere that threatens to destabilize the already tenuous links.

They have to wait another two vargas to reenter the Marmora headquarters and Thace takes the time to observe. The fight with Lotor isn’t the only time an argument breaks out between Shiro and Keith. It’s the second time when Lotor finds them approaching a rebel outpost to recuperate on solid ground and he attacks once again. It’s the third time, fifteen doboshes later, when Lotor finds them tucked between a purple moon and its yellow planet. It’s the fourth time when they are finally heading back to headquarters when Lotor finds them again. Thace grows nervous at that point, fearful that Lotor will uncover their base and curious to how he’s managed to track them. 

Each fight, even as the paladins are dispatched and they form Voltron, always ends the same. The aftermath of the battle begins with Shiro and Keith at each other’s throats again. When they finally return to the base, Keith is the first one off the Castle, trying to hide his rage and riding the lift down into the asteroid alone. 

“Do you want me to tell them at the Record?” Umaala asks.

Thace sighs loudly, scratching at the back of his neck. “No, I’ll do it.” He has to mentally prepare himself for his wife’s _I told you so_.


	3. Crescendo

Keith awakes to an empty bed. When he smooths his hand against the slight dip in the spot beside him, he can feel that the sheets are still warm. Propping himself up on his elbows, he blinks his eyes, immediately adjusting to the darkness of the room. He can’t sense Shiro, but he can still smell him: woodsy aftershave and tangy sweat. Moving closer to the empty spot, he presses his nose against the blankets and inhales deeply. 

A buzzing sound from across the room gains his attention. The sliding door to the adjacent water closet is cracked open, emitting a soft glow of light. Curiously and with a furrowed brow, Keith slips from the bed, lightly padding across the room. Many of the quarters within the Marmora base are equipped with a small restroom complete with a toilet, a shower stall, and sink for personal use. That doesn’t stop many of the Blades from using the communal bath hall. While the rest of the team has used the bath hall too, Shiro enjoys his privacy. Keith doesn’t blame him. 

Keith gently raps his knuckles against the metal door. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

The buzzing suddenly stops, and silence follows. Keith’s mouth runs dry. Just as he’s about to forgo all semblances of respectability and barge right in, Shiro answers.

“Yeah,” he says, pausing again. “You can come in.”

Keith swallows around the tension boiling over inside of himself. He knows he’s been arguing with Shiro too much. He knows that there’s a large space between them when they sleep. He knows that perhaps too much time away has made them… Keith shakes his head. No, he still loves Shiro. They’ve been apart before and perhaps this time Shiro is too exhausted. There’s a weariness on his face that hasn’t completely dissipated since he’s returned. He hadn’t even resorted to his normal undercut, instead choosing to keep his hair pulled up in a ponytail and only shaving his face. 

Apparently, that has changed. He realizes this as he manually slides the door open to see long locks of black hair on the floor. When he looks up, Shiro is staring at him intensely. The hair at the sides of his head are longer than his usual hairstyle, but still much shorter than what it was mere moments ago. The forelock of white hair has been trimmed, as well as the remaining tuft of hair at the top of his head. 

“Did I wake you?” Shiro asks. He places the sheers and clippers at the side of the sink near their toothbrushes and a silver-blue box of floss. 

Keith squats down on the floor to gather the hair up and dispose of it, but Shiro is already there helping him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t even know you were in here.”

His stomach feels sour and maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so much before heading to bed. Shiro helps him gather up the hair and together they shove it past the steel flap of the trash bin built into the wall of the water closet. There isn’t a lot of room to maneuver around in here, clearly it was made to hold one person at a time, but they somehow make it work. But in the small closet, he still feels the distance between them even more and Keith’s not sure how to work with it. It’s like they’re in their own pocket of the void and they’re being pulled farther and farther away, stretched apart from each other by the dark energy that consumes them. One moment Shiro is clinging to him, head laying in his lap, and the next, he’s publicly berating him in front of the team. Keith tells himself, he understands why Shiro is so tumultuous yet flinty in the bright lights of the Castle of Lions. Shiro blames it on the headaches, but it doesn’t stop Keith from growing aggravated at times. Like two opposing hurricanes, Keith knows that he must sort this out soon before their emotions start effecting the team. 

He turns to leave, heading back to the bed, even while he feels Shiro’s eyes on him. 

“I thought you were going to keep the ponytail,” he says, almost teasing but there’s no humor in his voice. 

Shiro softly pads his way back into the room, switching the light off in the bathroom as he leaves. 

“I needed a change,” Shiro shrugs. 

They’ve had arguments in the past. One time, Shiro left three loads of unwashed clothes in Keith’s dormitory. They had sat there for two months straight and neither of them had realized it until Keith smelled the sweaty and musty clothes tucked behind his own overflowing laundry hamper. Another time, Keith left a pile of food-encrusted dishes in Shiro’s kitchen sink over the same spring break weekend they took a trip to San Francisco. Another time when Shiro _misplaced_ Keith’s hiking boots not realizing that the younger man left them at Shiro’s dad’s house the week before, or the time when Keith _almost_ accidentally spilled juice on Shiro’s _Xena: Warrior Princess_ DVD boxset which caused Shiro to then promptly change the Netflix password in retaliation. But those were stupid arguments, nothing so great to cause unspoken tension that made Keith’s stomach sour with anxiety and skin itch. Nothing that left a great trench between them when they slept beside each other. Even before they were dating, as friends they didn’t go this long without having an actual conversation during some verbal fighting spat. 

Keith licks his lips as he curls up in bed, beneath the thin sheets. 

“Your hair looks good either way,” he says. 

Shiro gives him a soft smile and there’s a brightness in his eyes that makes Keith’s chest swell. But still he feels the undertow waiting to suck him back out to sea, leaving him stranded in the abyss. Shiro climbs into bed with him, tugging Keith closer, the fingers of his warm prosthetic hand threading through Keith’s thick hair. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk lately,” Shiro says, suddenly. “Forgive me? Please?”

Keith leans closer, burying his face into Shiro’s shoulder and rubbing at it with his cheek. “Only if you forgive me, too.”

He feels Shiro press his lips to his temple, nosing at his warm hairline. Their relationship had always been relatively normal. What started off as a friendship blossomed into a companionship, sharing sweet kissing outside the garrison compound, and then quiet dates away from pilot school and mathematics courses and study groups and endless exams. And then their courtship as Shiro rose through the ranks and then the Kerberos mission. Keith had been so happy for him. He was proud that his boyfriend was going to space. Shiro was going to space and he’d come back to him and tell him all about his adventure on that icy moon. 

Keith grips Shiro’s gray shirt with a tight fist. He blinks away the tears. No matter how many silly arguments and tense moments they have, he won’t lose Shiro again. But deep down inside, Keith knows they’re at war. Anything could happen. 

“Remember when you told me that you wanted me to pilot Black if anything happened to you?” Keith murmurs into Shiro’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Shiro says tentatively. 

“I want… If anything happens to me,” Keith starts, “I want Black to take you back.”

“Keith,” Shiro says softly, “you know that’s not how that works.”

“I want you to try,” Keith murmurs again. “Promise me. If anything happens, Voltron will still live. Promise me, Shiro?”

The former paladin of the Black Lion sighs, kissing the crown of Keith’s head. 

“That’s not going to happen, Keith. You’ve come a long way with the Black Lion. He’s not going to let you go.” 

Keith doesn’t know if he’ll get what he wants out of this conversation. He doesn’t even know what he exactly wants from it. Ignoring the annoyance bubbling to the surface of his mind, he rubs his head against Shiro’s shoulder again and forces himself to fall sleep.

~~

Allura grew up during a time of peace and prosperity. Perhaps it was because her father had been a better ruler than her grandfather, King Raimon, who had grown too passive in his old age. Or perhaps it was because she lived in a time where the creation of the Legendary Defender brought about an era of harmony, no matter how short-lived that era had been. She hopes this time around it can be longer than before, that Voltron can bring about a new age of tranquility and strength. 

But here in the Marmora headquarters, tucked away between two black holes, she only feels her gullet rise with stomach acid and the brief taste of uncertainty on her tongue. The flurry of movement as Blades walk in and out of the main assembly hall reminds her of the vargas before Altea was destroyed. Like she’s kept in the dark, once again. Like her cousin and mother were so obviously hiding something from her. Like the moment of hesitation in her breath before her father put her to sleep. Something is happening. Larka’s being more secretive than usual, and it’s Kolivan that has called Allura and Coran to the assembly hall. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, moving to the side as a rather large Galran with a forked tail slips past her. 

Kolivan is tabbing through a hologram on the table, his index finger sliding through the air as he drags purple images into view. Antok is the only one she recognizes next to Kolivan, but there is a Blade with blue-violet skin and long hair on his other side. Kolivan doesn’t look away from the hologram as Allura moves forward, Coran right at her heels. 

“I wanted to discuss something with both of you,” Kolivan says. “I would have rather done this in private, but I believe we are pressed for time. Thace asked you about holding a meeting on Puig, correct?”

Allura nods, cutting her gaze to Coran who is peering at the hologram. 

“Thace believes that going to Puig to make sure they are safe is of the utmost importance. We don’t know how Lotor was able to track the Castle of Lions. Once before, Zarkon could track Shiro through the Black Lion. I am starting to doubt that Zarkon is truly incapacitated as we once previously thought,” Kolivan explains.

“Now wait a tick,” Coran starts. “We all heard that Lotor has been made Emperor. Do you think Zarkon is tracking us and relaying the information to his son’s fleet? He would have taken back command if he was alive by now.”

Kolivan purses his lips before looking over at them. No matter how much he attempts to look placid and stoic, she can see the worry creasing across his forehead. She wonders how much this group can take. They've been going for so long. 

“No,” Kolivan says. “Many of the Blades I have remaining on the inside have gone dark. The times they were supposed to communicate with HQ, they’ve either been late with transmissions or haven’t even relayed back at all. I have been able to spare a few recruits in helping to train many of the people in the refugee encampments, but there is just so much I can do. We need to call on the Puigans and the Olkari for more assistance and I wish to organize a meeting on one of their worlds, if their leadership will allow it.”

“What if we hold the summit aboard the Castle?” Allura asks. 

Antok shifts in his seat rather impatiently. Allura narrows her eyes, lifting one of her eyebrows. Something is amiss.

“If you don’t want to hold a summit aboard the Castle, why do you want to have it somewhere else? What happens if they don’t agree?” Allura clenches her jaw. “What is this really about?”

“Your cousin believes that someone among our ranks is feeding Lotor information,” the female Galra says abruptly. 

“Dorma,” Antok admonishes. “Don’t. 

Dorma rises from her seat and takes over tabbing through the hologram, before settling on a map of the nearest three quadrants. 

“We’ve been analyzing all the places that Lotor and his ships exited hyper-drive: the rebel outpost territory, Planet Z-36Y and its Moon Z-36YA, and roughly thirty doboshes out from Marmora HQ. He found you approximately every fifteen doboshes, give or take a few. You scanned your ship, we scanned your ship, and the Lions scanned themselves. There wasn’t any tracker attached. So, we can only determine that he’s tracking someone aboard the ship by the use of an encrypted chip and a portable quantum entanglement chain unit.”

Allura mulls over Dorma’s words. Lotor is tracking them. He knows where they are. And all he’s doing is waiting patiently for their next move, or a message every fifteen doboshes stating their current location. But Kolivan and Dorma’s words imply that whoever is using an encrypted chip, isn’t using it on the Marmora side. It’s someone from Team Voltron. Guilt slides into her stomach. She squeezes her eyes together as if that will get her out of this nightmare. 

“You're saying it’s one of the paladins that are leading Lotor to us?” Coran asks, bemused.

“They’re saying it’s Shiro,” Allura answers. Just uttering the words makes her head spin. Why would Shiro be doing this? Of course, he had been taken by the Galra phoebs ago, but he wouldn’t have just bent to their will. He’s stronger than that. 

“There’s a possibility it’s not,” Antok says. “This could be a far-fetched conspiracy theory cooked up by Thace and Larka, but if it isn’t…”

“We still need to test the theory,” Dorma adds.

She’s right. They’re right. But the secrecy weighs heavily on her. There’s a reason Kolivan only asked Coran and her to attend this meeting. 

“Why Puig?” Allura asks.

“We have several cadets stationed there, so we’ll have backup if anything goes wrong,” Kolivan says. “Calling a meeting to Puig would also catch Lotor’s attention. No matter who the mole happens to be, having all of us in one area will pique his curiosity.”

“I’ll make the call,” she says. 

“Princess, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Coran asks. “We just got Shiro back.”

“Shiro may not be the mole,” Allura explains. “We don’t know if he is or if this is just some misunderstanding. But we should side with him while we prove that he isn’t a spy.” The word alone weighs heavily on her tongue.

“You’re right,” Dorma repeats. “It may not be Shiro. It could be anyone from my team after we returned or anyone else’s. _But we still need to test this theory._ ”

A sudden wave of nausea sweeps over her. King Alfor had trusted Zarkon, look what had come of it. Allura shakes her head. Shiro isn’t Zarkon. Shiro is a friend. He’s family. Everything he has done was for the betterment of the team.

“I’m assuming you want me to keep this from the others,” Allura says. Her mouth feels dry as she tries to make sense of the words she says. 

“The more people who know about this, the less likely it will work,” Kolivan admits. “Remember this is all to test who could be transmitting messages to Lotor.” 

Allura has tried to play the diplomat, but her father’s mantle feels strange on her shoulders. It’s what truly pushed her to become one of the paladins. She couldn’t stand idly by and watch as the Galra tore the known universe apart, while her team took the brunt of the war. But this… this is a different beast altogether. This is conspiring and scheming and playing with shadows to get a desired outcome. Allura swallows around another wave of nausea that fills the pit of her stomach. 

“If anything goes wrong with this operation,” Allura says, her tone stony, “I’ll hold you responsible.”

Kolivan only gives her a tight nod, and with that she takes her leave.

~~

The smell of ozone is thick and pungent, slicing through the hazy gossamer of sleep. His fingers twitch, lifting and dropping as a sudden electrical pulse shivers through his arms, blending seamlessly with the chill of purple quintessence. Slowly, he clenches his hands into fists, thickened nails digging into the dry hide of his palms. Carefully, he shifts his head, cracking the pivot joint in his neck. The crisp pop makes him grit his teeth. Even with the overwhelming nebulous pull to fall back asleep, Zarkon wrenches himself out of the silver river of slumber and opens his eyes.


	4. Traveler in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for Mommy Issues because Keith’s vlog.

_It’s a slow trill that tickles the back of his throat, itching and itching. He wants to claw his own hand down his throat and scratch, digging his sharp nails against the soft pink tissue. He coughs, forcing himself to hack but the tickling continues. The odd sensation turns into a steady pulsing, the same feeling that blazed across his hand when the splash of quintessence sluiced against his light tan complexion. His skin peeled, flaking away like old serpent skin. It had left a streak of lavender, throbbing flesh dusted in sparse, silky fur. The idea that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite human crossed his mind._

Bright lights burn his retinas and the distant sound of a saw roars in his ears. He parts his eyelids and hisses at the overhead lamps. Keith turns over, shielding his face from the light and scampering away, as if he can escape the loud noise. He finds out, too quickly, that he’s in an airy cell with his back pressed against a steel wall. In front of him, a glass that radiates scorching electricity; above him, those same blinding lights.

Beyond the glass of the cell are black walls, dimmed with purple sub-lights. Galra. He’s aboard an Imperial vessel. 

A sickly, noxious fume percolates through the ventilation slats, steadily making the cell foggy. Keith opens his mouth to yell, to shout, to get the attention of the guards that are surely lurking nearby. He gulps a mouthful of the pale white miasma, swallows it down, chokes on it—

Keith succumbs to fumes. But just before, he catches a few words: “Prepare him for the druids.”

\--

“Diagnostics complete,” he hears when he finally comes to. He keeps his gritty eyes shut.

“Give me the stats.” A deep voice.

“Age Status: Around Early Adulthood. He has the ability to sire and carry offspring. Galran Hybrid Status: Approximately three-fourths Galran, one-fourth Altean,” the first voice halts, sounding baffled.

“What?” A pause. “That can’t be correct. I wasn’t aware that one of the paladins was Galran, let alone of Altean ancestry. That means one of his parents is a half-breed?”

“I checked four times. If I do it again it will be a waste of resources and she won’t like that.” A chuff of irritation and then: “Do you _want_ me to do the test again?”

A sigh. “No, but the Emperor will need to know about this.”

“Tell the High Priestess. That’s the proper protocol.”

“For something like this?” The deep voice almost sounds frightened. “It needs to be reported to—”

“To the High Priestess _first_.”

“The terrorists are in possession of a Galran-Altean hybrid. Who knows how many they still have. And you don’t think—?”

“I think we need to follow protocol.”

A deep chuff and then: “Why are you so adamant on handing him over to Haggar?”

“Here.” Keith hazily hears an object being passed, followed by a deep gasp. “Now, do you understand?”

There is a moment of silence before Keith feels something cylindrical being jabbed into his upper arm. Behind his eyelids, he sees a blurred apparition of the Black Lion.

\--

“Shiro,” he whispers, languid and aching. 

“Who the quiznak is Shiro?”

Keith’s eyes peel open, the purple sub-lights of the Galra vessel easing him awake. He’s in a different cell now. It’s less sterile white and more of the usual low lighting that helps the Galra with their nocturnal vision. A strange alien of a red-orange coloring stands outside the glass door. She looks like a hybrid. She looks familiar. Had he seen her during the battle on Puig?

Her head is cocked to the side and a small smile teases at her lips. 

“It’s about time,” the alien girl continues. “The guards said they’d be back for you in a bit, so I stole this chance to see you in person. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you paladins in the flesh… and fur. You’re so cute,” she giggles, playfully. “Your dad must be one of those arctic studs, or maybe one of their highland cousins, right? Or is it your mom? I think Zethrid’s dam was from the arctic territory, you know when it existed. My papa was from one of the desert clans, but he was born on Gal so I don’t really think that counts.”

He ignores her. There’s a dull throbbing in his wrists as he rotates them, the ache fading away. Keith’s mouth feels gritty like the desert sand back on Earth. Where he lived for so long. He’s desperate for some water.

“Where am I?” he asks, tonguing the roof of his mouth.

When he looks back at the girl, she’s gone. She’s disappeared into thin air. The sound of crackling echoes in his ears as the glass of the cell vanishes into delicate wisps of black. A waft of stagnant air fills the cell, smelling like burning rubber.

“Get up,” demands the guard, a robotic sentry peeking at him from around the corner.

Slowly and unsteadily, Keith rises from the floor.

“Where am I?” he repeats.

“I’m under orders not to harm you,” the sentry hums as he walks in, “but if you don’t follow my commands—”

Just as Keith is about to tell the guard off with some curse on the tip of his tongue, another person swaggers into the cell. 

He’s tall with lavender skin and a knowing smirk on his face. He has similar eyes to Keith, so startlingly familiar. Genetics.

Lotor.

*==*

  


**_THEN_**

Despite using the Teludav, the journey to Puig feels like the longest road trip he’s ever been on. Keith sinks lower into his seat on the bridge. Not much has been said since the Blades loaded up into the Castle to attend a summit alongside Team Voltron. His mother hasn’t said much. His father has kept quiet. Even Kolivan has reverted to his typical stony silence and look of eternal displeasure.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Hunk asks as he meanders around the bridge. “Shouldn’t we be doing something else…?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “What kind of meeting is this?”

“Just a regular check-in,” Coran whimsically says from his spot near the front consoles. 

“How long do you think this will last?” Shiro asks. “We really should be focused on liberating other worlds.”

Keith rubs a hand over his face. There must be more to Voltron than just liberating. Shouldn’t they be taking out Galra Empire strongholds? Just because they beheaded the snake doesn’t mean the Empire is without power. Lotor’s been provoking not only them, but his own people, stoking the flames and proclaiming that he’ll strengthen what his father could not. 

“And this is part of the process,” Allura says from her dais. “Every liberated world will go on to join the rebellion and the coalition, but we need to make sure they’re prepared to take that first step. We need to discuss this with the leadership.”

Sighing to himself, Keith twists in his seat to look back across bridge. Everyone but Hunk is in their designated spots. The only Blade on the bridge is Umaala who stands near the sliding doors. He looks back at Shiro. Perhaps after this summit, Shiro can take over as the pilot of the Black Lion. Maybe it will give Keith the time to focus under Kolivan’s tutelage. It will kill two birds with one stone, but he’ll have to have a serious discussion with Shiro and the team. Lance might be angry about it initially, but ever since he became Keith’s right hand, their friendship has grown even more. Lance will be understanding; he’s sure of it. He doesn’t know how long training will take, but wouldn’t it be good for the team if one of them were trained in Galra combat? Someone who knew additional contingency plans in case of Galra uprisings. Someone who knew the the ins and outs of the Empire? He doubts that Kolivan would assign that type of mission to him right now, but he’s also sure that he would learn something in the interim that would be valuable to Team Voltron.

Standing from his seat, Keith heads over to Umaala. 

“Where are the other Blades?” he asks.

Umaala wears her mask and has seemingly taken her position aboard the Castle quite seriously, but her stance wavers for a moment.

“The lounge,” she says. “I think they’re holding a meeting there. Why?”

“I need to talk to Kolivan,” he says.

She shifts her stance. “Don’t interrupt them now.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“We’re approaching Puig,” Coran calls out.

Through the front window, the rocky planet of Puig looks like an eaten apple. Even from such a distance as they approach the atmosphere, it’s dusted in brown and green rocks with a core of brilliant blue. Shallow valleys of dark water dance through the landscape, glistening from the light of the sun. The Castleship takes its time as it touches down outside one of the central villages.

“Are you sure a town of this size can house people of the coalition?” Shiro asks.

“Yeah,” Hunk adds, “it looks kind of small. Last time it was just Lance, me, and a Marmora squad.”

“It was also outside of the city,” Lance says. “We were infiltrating the Galra depot on the planet.”

“Well, that doesn’t even look like a city to me,” Pidge says, getting up from her seat. She walks over to the front consoles, squeezing herself between Shiro and Coran. “It looks like we’re the first ones to show up to the party.”

Allura’s head snaps around. “Umaala, tell Larka they can dispatch now. Use the back entrance of the Castle.”

“Yes, Princess,” says Umaala, straightening her stance to bow at her waist. The doors slide open as she rushes out of the room. 

“Dispatch for what?” Keith asks, still standing near the door.

“Kolivan wants to clear the village before we enter,” she says, smiling softly before turning back to her screens.

Her words leave a bad taste in his mouth. He clenches his teeth, before following Umaala to the lounge. The girl is surprisingly faster than he is, and by the time he reaches the lounge, Blades are filing out. He squeezes his way into the room to see Umaala already leaving with a small group of recruits. Keith clenches his fists. He should be with them, but he feels the sudden thorny guilt around his heart. Joining one group would mean leaving another. 

Kolivan and Dorma are gearing up with their squad.

“Where’s my mom and dad?” he asks. 

Kolivan halts in his movements, a hand wrapped tightly around a blaster. 

“They’ve left with their mobile team,” Kolivan says, smoothly. “They’re clearing a few of the nearest domiciles while another team sweeps the Puigan mayor’s home.” 

“I should go with them,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“No,” Kolivan says flatly, waving his hand in the signal for his team to dispatch with Dorma taking point. “You’re needed on the bridge right now. You are the paladin of the Black Lion. You’ll need to pilot him if something happens.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “This is a diplomatic summit. Why would we need—”

“Kythel,” Kolivan says, sternly. “I want to train you. I want to personally train you, but I can’t do that if you won’t listen to my instructions. Head back to the bridge. We’ll call in Team Voltron once everything is cleared.”

Insubordination has always been one of his flaws, but he wants to be a part of this so badly. If Kolivan thinks this is the right way to do it, so be it. 

“Okay,” he sighs.

Kolivan places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Thank you, kit.”

Keith watches as Kolivan leaves the lounge and disappears down the corridor to the back entrance of the Castleship. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of his head to follow them. He shakes it away and heads back to the bridge.

With a sudden jolt that quakes through the ship, Keith finds himself tossed to the floor. He catches himself on his hands and a slice of throbbing pain radiates through his wrists. Scrabbling to his feet, Keith runs down the corridor. There’s another jolt, but he manages to catch himself on the wall. When he reaches the bridge, heart pounding and sweat glossing his forehead, alarms start blaring through the Castle. 

“What’s going on?” he pants. “Are we under attack?”

Coran is the only one on the bridge.

“Keith,” he says, “head to your Lion. Now!”

“Coran, what’s going on?” he asks as he heads over to his seat.

“Someone has been reporting our location to Lotor,” Coran says, rather tersely, like he’s fighting against his own words. 

“W-what? What are you talking about?”

“We’re not here for a meeting,” Coran admits, his voice pitched high and frantic. “We’re here to draw out the mole. Now get to your Lion’s bay. Now.”

In a daze, Keith heads down to his hanger, suiting up quickly before running into Black’s open maw. The communication link is drowning with voices as Lance gives orders. Keith is grateful that Lance has his back. But something doesn’t feel right. He’s hyper aware of his psychic link with Black, but even the Lion’s purring doesn’t calm him.

“Has the village been evacuated?” he asks through the link as Black hurdles himself out of the hanger. 

“Keith! Thank the Ancients,” Allura says, breathless.

“Are the villagers safe?” he repeats.

Through Black’s front window, he can see the town. Square domiciles made of white and tan stone shine in the afternoon sunlight. Atop the hill that overlooks the rest of the town sits a few domed domiciles. The architecture is detailed with more color than the others, and Keith assumes that is where the mayor lives. A dark river brackets one side of the village while the other side houses a dilapidated aqueduct, some of its pillars collapsed and in various stages of crumbling. 

“Kolivan had the Blades, who were stationed here, evacuate the area before we arrived,” Allura says, guilt drenching her words.

“How did they know we were going to be attacked?” he asks, swiveling the controls to shift Black closer to Blue. In his peripheral vision, he watches as Lotor’s warship descends from the sky, his battle cruisers already wreaking destruction on the Castle’s particle barrier. 

Purple plasma shoots from the imperial vessel’s cannon, spearing hotly against a few buildings closer to the farmlands and the river. White stone shatters, melting across scorched earth. Keith fires, not even listening to Allura’s answer, as blood pounds wildly in his ears. He strikes the port side, but the warship manages to move clear of the hit. Black’s plasma cannon only manages to graze the metal. Keith shifts forward in his seat, steering him closer.

Anger lances up his back as he maneuvers Black to fire upon the warship again. He has to move away once Lotor realigns his ship and sets his cannon on him. His hands are trembling, and his heart is thumping so loudly he can feel it in his head. A part of him is fearful, scared, and in need of some sleep; but there’s another part of him who’s furious. He needs answers.

“Where is Shiro?” 

The link is quiet, before Lance answers tentatively, “I thought he was with you.”

“He said he was going to go get you,” Hunk says. 

“He’s not on the bridge?” Pidge asks.

If Keith didn’t know any better, he would have thought Allura cursed under her breath.

_“We’re here to draw out the mole.”_

Keith moves just in time before Allura freezes one of the oncoming cruisers and Hunk barrel rolls Yellow into it. The cruiser shatters, breaking apart in icy chucks as it hurtles closer to the ground. With wide eyes, Keith fires upon several cruisers, ignoring his teammates shouting in his ears.

“Paladins! Come in!” Kolivan’s voice startles him.

“What is it?” Lance asks before Red uses her heat ray. A cruiser catches aflame, heading down towards the already collapsing aqueduct. It breaks apart, like a fireball, crashing into the pillars. The strained architecture groans as it hits the ground, chucks of rock hitting the domiciles.

“We’re pinned down near the villa,” Kolivan says, “Can you provide cover fire?”

“On it,” Keith answers.

With Lance and Pidge by his side, they head over to the hill. Black’s visual screen zooms in. The Blades are pinned down against the backside of the building. Lotor’s ground troops have apparently made their debut and they’ve successfully pushed Kolivan’s team back. 

Keith fires on the enemy squad sending plasma and metal spewing across the yard. He lands Black just as Pidge and Lance destroy the last of the few cruisers trying to take back the hill. Bailing out of Black, Keith hits the ground running. Bayard out and forming a sword, Keith heads over to the Blades who have just taken out the last of the sentries. 

“What is going on?” he asks, panting. His gaze roves over the Blades. A few of them are injured, but this isn’t the whole force. His father and Dorma stand by Kolivan, but…

“Where’s Mom?” Keith’s fists are clenched tightly. This entire situation is leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Kolivan is about to say something when Thace puts a hand on his upper arm to stop him.

“She’s aboard Lotor’s ship,” he says, bluntly and without preamble. 

His palms are sweating in his flight gloves and he feels the sensation to dry heave. This is what he’s been fearing. Losing his parents. Again. He can’t. He can’t do this anymore. He’s trying so hard to keep this together in his head, that he…

Backing up slowly, Keith takes off running. For a second he’s free falling. Someone is on top of him, wrestling him down, but he strikes out with the heel of his palm. He doesn’t know who he’s hit. His head is swimming, his eyes blurry with anger. He hears Lance and Pidge in his communication link, but he tears off his helmet. With another strike to whoever is tackling his legs, Keith scrambles to his feet and takes off running again. He needs to get aboard that ship. He needs to… He’s half way through the village market place when he feels the electric burning sensation of being stunned. His vision goes black before he hits the ground.

*==*

  


**_NOW_**

“You know when I told Zethrid to bring me the pilot of the Black Lion,” Lotor drawls, waving his hand flippantly, “I didn’t expect this.”

Keith is silent and wary.

“I didn’t think that one of the paladins was Galra,” Lotor continues. “I’m impressed that they trust you enough, but then again terrorists usually congregate together in the hidden alcoves of the universe.”

Keith remembers what the Blades had said. Lotor had remained hidden for some time, plotting and orchestrating from a distance, waiting for his time to shine. 

“Are you projecting your inadequacies on me?” Keith taunts. “Congregating in hidden alcoves seems to be something _you_ do.”

Lotor’s smirk drops for a tick before slowly climbing his face once more.

“After losing Shiro,” Lotor starts, “did my cousin choose you to take his place or did my sister push one of her knowledge-seekers to be the black paladin?”

Keith’s chest tightens. He’s learned a few things in their short conversation. Lotor doesn’t know who he is and did not know that he piloted Red before. But what really bothers him is that he’s on a first name basis with Shiro. Swallowing around the betrayal that has suddenly pushed itself forward, he takes a deep breath.

“You and your father still don’t understand. You can’t control the Lions. They choose their paladins.”

A dark shadow passes over Lotor’s face.

“You think I care about—” 

“Where is she?” Keith asks, cutting off Lotor’s tirade before it could hatch.

Lotor raises a perfectly angled eyebrow, smiling. “Who?”

Keith grits his teeth. Every time he manages to get under Lotor’s skin, the prince does the same to him. He needs to be more careful. This is the same man his mother thought she could hide Keith from. If Lotor knew who he really was, would he still think Keith should be killed?

“Your sister. Larka.”

Lotor laughs, a deep sound that raises the hair on the back of his neck. “Can you imagine my surprise when I found her wandering around my ship?”

_Wandering?_

“I asked for the black paladin and I find out he’s one of us. Then I find my sister about to behead me on the bridge of my ship and she suddenly just hands herself over,” he pauses. “I admit she probably has ulterior motives. She always does. Pay attention because you should know that about your leader. She coils her hands around your neck and squeezes if you give her the chance.”

Keith grits his teeth, his carnassial molars shearing together. He knows not everything is black and white, but the venom in Lotor’s voice makes his blood boil. 

“But that stops today,” Lotor says. “I’ll be attending her execution soon.”

A chill travels up the length of Keith’s spine, his eyes widening in sheer terror. Just as he’s about to hurtle towards Lotor – to nail a punch, to slam the smirk off his face – a sentry charges up his weapon, pointing it directly at Keith’s chest. Balling his hands into fists, Keith takes a deep breath. 

_Patience yields focus._ What would Shiro do right now? Shiro. Despite not understanding this mole nonsense, Keith finds himself thinking about him. He would wait for an opportunity. He wouldn’t fling himself headfirst into a battle without knowing what to expect. Right? It’s something that Keith himself has managed to adopt. Analyze a situation and find the best strategy. Maneuvering around someone as tenacious as Lotor would take time. Licking his dry lips, Keith isn’t sure what Shiro would do at a time like this. 

“Don’t worry, paladin,” Lotor mutters to himself as he turns away, “an execution isn’t your fate. Perhaps I can convince Mother to let me keep you in my ranks.”

_No._

With one last look, Lotor smiles. “I have another prisoner for you to get acquainted with, paladin. He’s had altercations with the Legendary Defender before. Poor thing failed his mission.”

Lotor nods to someone around the corner. Another rush of anger fills the pit of his gut as a second sentry leads a hulking one-armed prisoner into the cell. His ocular prosthetic is missing, leaving an empty socket behind with scar tissue that is pitted and pockmarked. He’s wearing a black bodysuit and a dark tunic, the uniform of a slave within the Galra Empire.

“I found Commander Sendak free floating in an Altean pod,” Lotor laughs. “Well, he’s not a commander anymore. The two of you should enjoy each other’s company while I’m gone.”

The glass of the cell materializes in a plume of black wisps, reappearing just as it had disappeared. It crackles with purple plasma, surely used to subdue prisoners. When Keith looks up at Sendak, Lotor and the sentries have disappeared. Like a feral beast, the disgraced commander’s remaining eye scrutinizes him. Even with one arm, Sendak could take him out. He’s a trained soldier. And he probably hadn’t been kicked out of his garrison for insubordination like Keith. This was Zarkon’s first in command, his personally trained apprentice. And Keith had barely made it out of his own battle with Zarkon. 

Keith slowly inches his way back, but stops short as Sendak chuffs loudly in annoyance. Keith watches warily as Sendak heads to the opposite side of cell, leans against the far wall and slides down to sit. 

“I’m not going to fight you, kit,” Sendak says, his voice rough and low. “And I’m not playing Lotor’s games, so you can relax.”

Keith narrows his eyes. 

“You really expect me to believe that?”

Sendak’s ears twitch for a moment, but he says nothing. 

Never taking his eyes off Sendak, he walks to the other side of the cell and sits on the floor. There must be a way out of here, a way to get to his mother before she’s executed. He should have struck Lotor while he had the chance, but he had to think of Shiro. Again. And where was Shiro during the battle? What was going on? He tries to pull his thoughts together, but his head still feels hazy from his time with the druids and the bizarre conversation he just had with the prince. Scrubbing a hand through his dark hair, Keith sighs. 

_Quiznak._

~~

The chamber is familiar, all grays and blacks and purples, but she realizes that she’s not at Central Command. Instead, she’s aboard a dreadnought. Nostalgia stabs through her gut. Though the location has changed, her father has not. Zarkon still sits atop his throne, eerily staring down at her. As if she’s a child about to be scolded. As if she just happened to push Lotor off his chair and Zarkon’s about to chastise her. He would threaten to tell her mother and she’d petulantly stomp her foot and act as if she hadn’t done anything. A small smile would lift Zarkon’s lips and he’d ruffle her hair, promising to give her and her brother extra dessert if they behaved. But that isn’t the same man in front of her this quintant.

Her chest tightens, her eyes burning. Beside her father is Haggar, a frail-looking paragon of who her mother once was. Her body is bowed forward under the strain of the quintessence. Larka’s throat grows heavy with emotion. A part of her wants to beg and cry. She wants to confess. She wants to go back in time and beg Alfor to close the rift himself. But she can’t do any of that. Her parents are dead. Her brother is standing off to the side, arms crossed and smirking, waiting for her to receive her overdue punishment. Her son is floors away, being tortured or dead… and why of all times did he have to follow her? Why couldn’t someone hold him back a little longer? This was supposed to be a one-person mission. She would be in and out, but now the plans must change. With Zarkon awake, there’s no way she can get close enough to kill him. Not with so many soldiers and druids and the entire regime on high alert. 

Larka has never been a religious woman. Her mother made sure of that, trusting science over false idols. But Larka would serve and pray to any Ancient right now who would help Kythel get off this ship alive. She had sent him away to be safe from Zarkon and now twenty deca-phoebs later, Kythel is in the Emperor’s clutches. Larka blinks away tears. Her father will perceive any emotion as weakness. So, she swallows down her anguish and fear and tries for the millionth time to make this mad man proud.

“The paladin,” Larka croaks, her throat dry. “Is he still alive?” _He’s your grandson. He’s piloted the Red and Black Lions. He’s stronger than you._ “Haggar is still here. Is it safe to assume he hasn’t been tortured yet?”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” Zarkon’s voice is just as hoarse and gravelly as her own.

Larka looks down at her chained wrists, violet energy surging through the metal. She lifts her gaze. “Where is the kit?”

“You are a traitor and a terrorist,” Lotor laughs. “You presume you can ask questions?”

“Silence,” Zarkon rasps. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Larka smiles as Lotor’s head whips around to face Zarkon. His eyebrows are raised in disbelief. 

_He hates us both. Do you see that now?_

“Lotor is right,” Zarkon says. “You are a traitor, accused of espionage among other horrific war crimes.”

Horrific war crimes? Horrific war crimes? A sharp smile breaks out across her face. Larka giggles stupidly, a low noise that slowly turns into a high-pitched laugh.

“Father,” Lotor chides. “This is ridiculous. Just put her in a cell and execute her in the morning. You have the black paladin, you have the bayard. You are a step away from claiming Voltron. This is what you’ve wanted. You’ve just awakened. You don’t need to listen to this raving lunatic.”

Larka pulls at her restraints as she laughs. She feels the throbbing pain in her shoulder as a sentry hits her with the butt of his gun. But still, she continues on.

“You sheltered idiot. You go gallivanting across the universe and you think you know what _he_ wants. Or is selling my son and I to Zarkon all a part of your larger plan. Are you going to say you care about Voltron now? Are you hoping to become Father’s red paladin?” she laughs.

Lotor’s face flushes, eyes wide with rage. “I know more about what Father’s trying to achieve than you ever—”

“Silence,” Zarkon shouts, slamming his hands down on the armrests of his throne. 

The chamber falls silent and Larka has to focus on her restrained wrists to calm herself. Zarkon rarely raised his voice after his resurrection. He doesn’t need it to instill fear in others, but it only shows how much he’s fraying at the edges.

“I’m exhausted with the two of you,” Zarkon chuffs. “My traitor daughter and my martyr son. You are both stains on my legacy. I should have dashed your heads in when you were born.”

Haggar makes a hoarse, strangled noise. “Sire,” she croaks. “The boy.”

Zarkon stiffens in his seat and takes a deep breath. Lotor looks back and forth between the Emperor and the High Priestess. 

“I’m leaving,” he says, quickly. “This is ridiculous.”

Whatever his plans were on the dreadnought, they’re crumbling in front of him. Larka wants to smile and goad him further, but she knows that her own plans are too fragile and in need of repairs. She needs to get to Kythel. Larka hastily licks her lips.

“Where is the paladin?” she asks.

Lotor moves to leave. “You’re so focused on that quiznaking paladin—” As he brushes past her, the sentry guarding her moves in his way.

“We are not finished here,” Zarkon says. “You will leave when I dismiss you.”

Lotor’s hands clench into fists. 

“The both of you will stay aboard this ship for now,” the Emperor continues. “As will Larka’s son.”

Gritting her teeth, she looks up.

“Yes,” he says. “The two of you still argue mindlessly. Saying all sorts of things you don’t want to admit until it’s too late. The both of you will die as quarrelsome as you lived. Cantankerous and belligerent, unworthy of being called my children.”

“Sire,” Haggar rasps. 

Zarkon stares and Larka feels cold, defeated. 

“I had the boy tested,” Haggar says. Larka doesn’t know if she’s talking to her or Zarkon. “But _you_ have given me the confirmation I needed.”

Swallowing the guilt and self-hate, Larka asks again, “Is he still alive?”

Haggar almost looks uncomfortable under Larka’s glare. For a moment, she thinks her mother will say that Kythel is dead. Her hands begin to tremble. 

“You’ll see him in a moment.”

~~

“So, you lied?” Allura argues, blue eyes blazing with fury as Lance holds her back.

“We couldn’t tell you everything,” Thace explains, pacing behind Kolivan. 

“You couldn’t go after him?” Lance asks, voice suspiciously calm.

“It was an infiltration mission,” Kolivan says. “We couldn’t have let you all know the exact truth. And it proved our assessment of the situation.”

“That Shiro is a mole?” Lance asks in disbelief. “Keith is gone! He went after his mother who was going on a high-ranking, solo mission to infiltrate the druids! He has no idea! What happens if she doesn’t know he’s—?”

“I’m sure Larka will radio in when she gets the chance,” Coran mediates.

“You still lied,” Allura says, furious. “I trusted you with not only Puigans’ lives, but the lives of my team!”

“We had evacuated the village prior to the invasion,” Antok adds, still nursing a bruised jaw he received after tackling Keith.

“Like that makes any of this better,” Lance says, letting go of Allura to throw his hands up in the air. “How long until she radios in?”

“Who radios in?” Hunk says from the doorway.

Allura turns to see Hunk and Pidge side by side. 

“Get in here and shut the door,” Lance grumbles. 

“Shouldn’t we be planning a way to get Keith back?” Pidge asks. 

Allura grinds her teeth together. She wants to scream in frustration.

“Shiro’s a mole, probably working for Lotor. Larka went on a suicide mission to get to Haggar and take out the top echelon of commanders,” Allura says.

“And Keith went after his mom,” Lance adds, “because let’s face it, Keith gets his hotheaded impulses from her.”

Antok lets out a bark of laughter, but it quickly dampens down under the glares of everyone else. Allura distinctively hears Lance snort back a chuckle of his own. 

“Wait a tick,” Hunk furrows his eyebrows together, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “Shiro’s a spy? So, it would be really bad if I saw him wandering around Black’s hanger acting a bit… shady?”

“If Shiro has been brainwashed by the druids or even if he’s working with Lotor willingly,” Kolivan starts, “you need to keep him away from the Lions. Do you understand, Princess?”

With sweaty palms, Allura looks at Lance. 

“We still need to figure out an extraction plan for Larka and Keith. We can persuade Shiro back here under that guise. But we must keep an eye on him while we plan. He won’t be able to communicate with Lotor if two of us are with him at all times. Help me persuade him away from the Lions?” she asks. Allura is tired and keeping secrets is driving her crazy. But looking at Lance with his eccentric ears and friendly demeanor is so calming.

Lance smiles, showing sparkling white teeth. “Anything for you, Princess Allura.”


	5. Shirogane

Shiro thumbs at the silver-blue communicator in his palm. His teeth chatter from the chill of the Lion’s bay. Curling his fingers as they shake, he squeezes the communicator tightly. The warmth from the small machine does nothing to quell the freezing guilt circulating through his organic arm. Despite the chill, his hand feels sweaty and he hastily wipes it on his pants. The communicator clatters to the ground, a loud noise echoing throughout the large chamber. The Black Lion stares down at him with a blank expression and he feels an unfamiliar ache. A strange longing to climb into the Lion’s maw, to settle into the pilot seat, to grip the controls, to find Keith. 

Shiro pockets the communicator after retrieving it from the floor. Scrubbing his hand through the tuft of hair on his head, he lets out a long sigh. 

“Hey! You okay, buddy?”

Shiro turns around to spot Lance and Allura. They’re smiling at him. It’s almost a teasing lift of their lips. It’s so easy for them to be able to smile at a time like this. He feels bile climb up his throat, burning at his esophagus. He swallows it down, rubbing at his stomach. 

“Not really,” he says, gulping aloud. With their questioning looks, he continues, “I’m worried about Keith. We shouldn’t… we should have stayed here. Lotor had been expecting us.”

 _It’s my fault._ He wants to admit it. He’d been overzealous. Shiro had been too willing to appease him after breaking out of Central Command. And now, the fragile beginnings, the fresh roots he had begun to plant were ripped out of the ripe soil. All because Lotor couldn’t keep his excitement at bay.

Lance’s expression softens, taking a few steps forward to place a hand on Shiro’s left shoulder. 

“You should come with us,” Lance says. “We’re trying to come up with an extraction plan for Keith and his mom.”

Shiro’s eyebrows knit together. “An extraction plan?” Is this something he should report in? Or should he wait until Lotor reaches out? It’s been vargas since his last check-in. 

“Remember when I was taken, Shiro?” Allura asks. “When I sacrificed myself, so you could get off the Galra ship?”

Her tone is strange, stilted, as if she’s trying to trigger some kind of response from him. Digging through his memories, Shiro pulls together the fragmented images of Allura grabbing him and throwing him towards an escape pod. The hazy visual of guards wrestling her into submission. The satisfaction on Allura’s face at protecting him. He tries to piece together the puzzle, but it is blurry around the edges. A sweet caress of quintessence flares across his frontal lobe and sweeps through his brain, dampening the growing emotions of longing and hunger. 

“Yes,” he answers, warily.

Allura breathes out in relief. “Well, we must do that for Keith and Larka. We can’t leave them in the hands of the Galra. There’s no telling what Lotor will do with them.”

 _Bargaining chips._ That was what the dam was supposed to be. Keith wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Lotor. How the hell did he get so close to the prince? Had it been Lotor’s intention from the beginning? With a quick look at the Black Lion, he understands immediately. The entire fight with Zarkon. The desire to get the Black Lion. Keith is the current paladin of the Black Lion. He’ll become a bargaining chip, too. But what is Lotor after? Shiro swallows around another swell of bile and sour quintessence. He can’t do this. Playing both sides has become too difficult. 

_Pick one._

With his Galra arm, Shiro presses a warm metal hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Let’s get them back.”

~~

Pidge riffles through one of the chests in the laboratory, Hunk and Ulaz peering over her shoulders.

“You guys have to give me some space,” she murmurs, tersely. 

“What exactly are you looking for?” Ulaz asks.

“An entanglement amplifier,” she says. “Keith likes to complain when I use science talk, but he knows how to build stuff.” She tosses a look at Hunk. “Remember back at his cabin, he had computers and servers, all sorts of tech that I’ve never even seen before.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “but we don’t know if that was his adopted dad’s stuff, or just tech he accumulated after he got kicked from the garrison.”

Ulaz stiffens behind her. “What kind of technology?”

“Honestly,” Pidge comments, “some of it looked almost Altean.”

“But there was stuff from the eighties,” Hunk adds. “Papa Kogane had a Macintosh XL. So archaic. But it definitely looked like he was a Windows guy.” 

“Windows?” Ulaz raises an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Hunk mutters. “Windows is a graphical operating system.”

“It's largely used by people on Earth… unlike you Galra,” Pidge adds. “You all seem to use some advanced amalgamation of a text-based operating system, quintessence, genetic coding, and video multimedia.”

Although Ulaz seems to understand, Pidge notices the wariness on his face. She turns back to the chest before continuing. 

“But the other stuff in the cabin. It looked really _futuristic_ , but I mean there’s a possibility that Larka had left stuff with Papa Kogane, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Ulaz says. “I know that she and Thace left Kythel on Earth and then returned to Gal. A few phoebs later, Kolivan sent Antok and Larka on a mission to protect the Blue Lion. I don’t know what was discussed at their debriefing.”

 _Protect the Blue Lion?_ Now that was something she hadn’t heard about. Why would the Blue Lion need additional protection? And what did Antok and Larka do on Earth while they were there? Pidge hadn’t even been born at that point. To think that aliens had been on Earth just a few years before she was born. 

Perhaps that’s why Keith had felt that strange pull to the Blue Lion. His mother had made sure that the most gentle and maternal of the Lions had called out to him. But had his mom left anything else besides a Lion and a son on the planet? Had she left anything of Altean origin?

Pidge rummages through the chest once more, to find a silver speaker box.

“Found it,” she says.

“So, what is this supposed to do again?” Hunk asks. 

“We don’t know if Keith will meet up with his mom or if Lotor is going to keep them separated. But we do know that the only communication we get is from Central Command. Lotor has got his intra-communication system locked down and it’s been difficult hacking in. But if Keith gets the chance while he’s on one of Lotor’s ships, he might hail us from inside. I’ll be able to latch on to that signal and amplify the entanglement chain, so we won’t be able to lose them,” Pidge explains.

From Ulaz’s pocket, his communicator buzzes. 

“I’m needed elsewhere,” he says after checking his device. “The both of you will be able to join the others on your own?”

“Yeah,” Hunk says. “Thanks again for letting us into Galra Keith’s mom’s lab, Ulaz.”

A small smile plays on his lips. “You are most welcome.”

When Ulaz is gone, Pidge shoves the amplifier into Hunk’s arm. 

“Do you think there were other aliens on Earth?” she asks, biting her lower lip. 

Hunk shrugs. “Probably. That would explain how a cow got to a space mall.”

“I guess,” she pauses. “But do you think Zarkon knew about Earth the entire time? _That_ would explain why a Galra space ship was in our solar system.”

“You think they were heading to pick up the Blue Lion?” Hunk asks, raising his eyebrows. “But… if they knew that the Blue Lion was on Earth, why would they just take your dad, brother, and Shiro and then leave?”

“It’s just that some things don’t add up. Sendak already had the Red Lion. The Galra were so close to finding the Yellow Lion that they had Galra troops on that planet already, right? And then Zarkon had a Galra ship entering our solar system, the same solar system that housed the Blue Lion. All he would have had to do was find the Green Lion. How long would that have taken? Do you know how close Zarkon was to getting Voltron? Ten thousand years had passed, and his hunt was coming to an end. But suddenly, Zarkon finds three humans and tells his commander to pull back. Why?”

“Pidge…”

She is quiet, realizing too late that Hunk is scrutinizing her.

“What’s really going on with you, Pidge?” 

“I’ve just been thinking about Shiro being the mole, being a spy for the Galra. How could that have happened?”

“He was missing for—”

“Phoebs? I know. But then I started thinking about the Garrison,” she starts again. “They were so willing to label the Kerberos Mission crash as a pilot error. And then… I remembered Shiro and Keith. My brother and Shiro were really close friends and he knew how great of a pilot he was. They were excited to be going on a high-ranking mission together. And my dad took my mom and I on a tour of the space shuttle a week before they were supposed to leave. Shiro did the same thing with Keith. I thought Shiro would have brought his dad, but Matt told me Shiro’s dad passed away the year before. And I started putting two and two together. Keith. Me. My mom. It was our family that went missing and the Garrison acted like it was an accident. This was an important science mission. And they decided to sacrifice a commander, a junior science officer, and their best pilot for a mission like that?”

“Okay, um… Pidge, maybe you should get some rest. Today’s been kinda hectic and you’re not making any sense.”

“What if the Garrison knew about the Galra?” she asks, eyes wide beneath her glasses. “What if the Galra knew about Keith? What if Zarkon knew about Keith? What if the Galra are inside the Garrison and they sent three of their best human test subjects into space?”

The laboratory is quiet as the floor heating creates a humidity that curls the ends of Hunk’s hair. 

“That’s… that’s impossible, Pidge,” Hunk says. “Don’t you think the Blades would know?”

“How impossible is it really? We pilot magical robot Lions!” Pidge takes a deep breath. “Maybe the Blades don’t know; but what I do know is that if Shiro is a spy, he’s not doing it because he wants to. He’s been taken by the Galra before. He’s struggled against Sendak and Zarkon and Haggar before. Maybe he’s reached his breaking point.”

Hunk is silent. Pidge’s stomach gurgles, but she finds it has less to do with hunger and more to do with her nerves.

“Do you believe me, Hunk?” Her voice is small. 

Hunk exhales loudly, his free hand toying idly with Shay’s necklace. 

“Honestly, it sounds crazy,” he says. “I mean, the Galra on Earth, inside the Garrison? Orchestrating all of this from outside the main command of the Empire? It just screams conspiracy theory.” He pauses, and Pidge feels her heart fall in her gut. “But… you were right before. Without you, we wouldn’t have heard those radio frequencies. And the Galra were talking about Voltron… _as if they were really close to finding all the Lions_. And… Iverson was pretty calm about quarantining a recently amputated Shiro and having an alien escape pod land in Garrison territory.”

Pidge’s eyes widen. 

“Y-you believe me?”

Hunk winces. “Yeah, I guess—”

Pidge launches into Hunk’s arms, squeezing tightly. It’s so unlike her, but mulling over these thoughts has set her teeth on edge. Knowing something strange had occurred just before they left Earth. The thoughts of her mother left alone. Colleen’s husband and children disappearing, possibly dead. Pidge can’t even think about her mother without wanting to cry. 

She pulls away from Hunk, setting her feet on the ground. 

“Just… just don’t tell Allura right now,” Hunk says. “She’s already about to have a meltdown because her cousin and Keith have zero control and Shiro may be brainwashed and I’m sure she wants to kill Lotor herself. Just wait until we’ve got all this sorted before you tell her that the Garrison might be compromised. And… maybe talk to Kolivan first. Maybe he can send some Blades to Earth.”

“I don’t think I’ll do that,” Pidge says. “Kolivan has enough on his plate right now.”

Hunk nods. “You’re right. Okay, let’s head back to the meeting. Hopefully Allura and Lance got Shiro by now. Just act normal.”

“Pidge _Normal_ Gunderson? Yeah, that sounds like me.”

“You should definitely drop the Gunderson,” Hunk says, chuckling as they leave the laboratory. 

“Yeah, okay, but it’s a great alias,” she says nonchalantly.

Hunk lets out a hearty laugh as they turn a corner to one of the main lifts. “For a Norwegian guy, not some Italian-American kid from the Southwest.”

Just as one Blade is exiting the lift, they enter it. The two paladins banter for a few more doboshes until they reach the meeting hall. 

“Where’s Shiro?” Hunk asks when they arrive. 

“Allura and Lance took him to the mess hall,” Dorma comments, half looking their way but entirely focused on some map. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Have you figured out anything?” he questions again. 

Coran shakes his head, sliding a tablet towards Kolivan who sits across from him. “No, but we think Lotor may have docked near Central Command.”

“What?” Pidge asks. “Why?”

“I received a message from my brother on Gal,” Dorma sighs. “It wasn’t the information I wanted to hear, nor is it the message I was _waiting_ to hear.

Pidge raises an eyebrow and adjusts her glasses. 

“Apparently, Zarkon is awake,” Thace says. 

But just as Pidge’s eyes widen in shock and disbelief, Ulaz rushes into the chamber, the doors sliding shut behind him. His yellow eyes almost mimic Pidge’s expression… but she realizes, it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Kolivan,” says the technician, his underbite jutting out with his jaw clenched tightly. “Kolivan, the cadet at the communication hall called me down. Shiro and a group of rebels entered Marmora space approximately one varga ago. He’s waiting for authorization into the base.”

The room is silent, cold, and Kolivan is now slowly standing. His stoicism is gone, instead befuddlement covers him like a mask. 

Pidge is the first to speak, her mouth running dry, but she’s desperate to fill the sudden silence. “But Shiro is already on the base?” 

Kolivan chuffs in anger, turning to Thace. She watches them share some silent conversation. 

“I regret that I did not take Larka’s theories seriously enough,” he murmurs when he looks over at Ulaz. “Let them in. He has my authorization once they’re clear to maneuver the space. Bring them here.”

“I will tell Princess Allura and—” Coran says, getting ready to intercept.

“No,” Kolivan says. “We don’t want to alert—”

“Fake Shiro?” Hunk asks, confusion in his tone, too. 

Pidge shuts her eyes tightly, hoping that the sudden pain in her forehead will stop throbbing. Two Shiros? The Shiro that’s been with them for the past fort-quint. He is an impostor. The one labeled a spy. A mole. He is an impostor. He’s not Shiro… Then, who is he?

 _Cloning,_ she suddenly thinks. The druids cloned him. Unless, impostor Shiro… is actually a druid. Pidge’s head spins and she has to reach out for Hunk to steady herself. 

“…you okay?” Hunk asks, and she realizes the conversation has been continuing since her world started—

“Katie?” 

Pidge’s stomach churns and her hands shake. She lets go of Hunk, slowly turning around, not realizing that it's been doboshes since Ulaz left to retrieve Shiro and the rebels. Letting out a wet gasp and launching herself into her brother’s arm, Pidge cries, clutching the dirty cloak and strange rebel uniform Matt wears. He smells of sunshine and soil and sweat. Her head still spinning, Pidge spots Shiro to her left. 

An entirely different person than his alternate, this Shiro has a familiar undercut with the sides buzzed short. She feels Matt’s arms wrap around her, a hand petting her hair and the sudden grief that leaves her body. 

“Matt?” she cries. 

Hazily, she reaches out for Shiro, the one who wiped her glasses clean when they get too smudged, the one who never stopped helping her in her search for Matt. She grabs him by his own cloak and pulls him into the hug. 

“Quiznak!” Hunk curses, hurtling himself into the tight embrace, too. 

Pidge is dimly aware of the group of rebels behind them, observing the reunion with small smiles. She sees Ulaz who looks oddly uncomfortable as he gestures to Kolivan. And then, finally the door opens once more. She watches with wide eyes as Allura and Lance enter the chamber with the clone behind them. She hears the gasp of _Holy crow!_ and then the embrace pulls apart. Shiro turns, ready to smile at the rest of team, but it falters as he spots—

With a rage Pidge has never seen before, Shiro pushes past Allura and Lance. The clone is stunned, trying to wrestle out of the sudden brutal grip around his neck. But Shiro’s metal arm tightens, shoving the clone to the ground before grappling and pinning him on his back. Shiro forms a fist with his Galra hand and punches the clone across the face. Pidge sees red blood, tinted violet, splatter across the wall.

She feels dazed as she watches the events unfold. Shiro rears back for another punch as the clone attempts to block, but to no avail. Shiro lands another raw hit to the clone’s cheekbone, the flesh ripping open on the metal. Hunk and Matt finally manage to pull him off the clone. Before Pidge can process anything else, four Blades are dragging the spy from the room, blood streaking across the floor like some purple path to hell. 

Pidge looks up at Allura, a hand over her mouth and Lance standing protectively in front of her. Shiro is breathing heavily, the only noise in the whole room. Pidge casts her gaze towards Coran and Kolivan. There’s a certain amount of uncertainty on their faces, as if they’re not sure what to do. Thace, Dorma, and Antok even look wholly uncomfortable. 

She turns back to Matt, who is shaking Shiro, hands clasped around his friend’s face. “Calm down,” he’s repeating. Shiro is pulling away, taking a few steps into the room, looking like he’s breathing for the very first time. His gaze travels the room, seeing the familiar faces and a few new ones. And then he looks back at her, his face no longer angry, but soft and scared. 

“Pidge, where’s Keith?”


	6. Chance

Keith is escorted to a large antechamber three floors above the prison cells. Five left turns, four right turns, up a central lift, another right turn, and through a set of double doors that slide open silently. He memorizes it, maps it out in his head for later use. He thought he would be taken to a throne room, but instead the antechamber is unfurnished. Just dark gray walls and a stifling warmth that sends a lick of sweat down the nape of his neck. His mother stands in front of two guards, her wrists handcuffed in front of her, a bright violet light emitting from the metal circles. There’s a cut at the corner of her lip, crusted in dry blood, and a few abrasions on one of her cheeks, but other than that she looks fine. Keith makes eye contact with his mother and the brief lift of her lips eases the pain in his chest. 

Larka and her guards aren’t the only ones there. Beside her stands Lotor, lips pressed in a firm line as a shrouded, masked druid speaks to him in hushed whispers. The druid reminds Keith of a predatory owl hunched over its latest kill. The cruel magician suddenly twists around to face him with a sickening crack that makes even Lotor wince. 

“Good,” the druid says, voice nasally. “He’s here.” 

For a moment, Keith thinks that the druid is talking about him, but the doors behind open swiftly and he turns to see Sendak being escorted into the room, too. The shamed commander had stayed eerily quiet for the duration of their time spent together in the cell.

“Unbelievable,” Larka mutters so sharply that Keith can hear her voice from across the room. 

He struggles to grasp what is going on. But it grows more apparent by the tick that even without the chains, Lotor is just as much of a prisoner as they are. 

Keith feels the guard behind him shove him forward and he quickly claims the spot beside his mother. 

“Are you alright?” she asks immediately. 

Keith nods. “Are you? Lotor said you were going to be executed.”

“I suppose that is what he wanted,” she murmurs, her gaze shifting to her brother for a moment. “You should have stayed with the others.”

“And leave you here with this circus,” he says. “No thanks. I’ll pass.” 

Larka’s lips twitch again. 

“Plus, did you actually have a plan on how to get out of here?” he asks, lowly. “Or was this like Thace’s suicide mission?” Keith jostles into her as Sendak wobbles near on shaky legs. For the most part, Larka ignores the humiliated commander.

“Perhaps the two of you should be quiet,” the druid rasps, just as another set of doors open. “The Emperor would see you all now.”

Keith feels a sweat break out across his forehead, beading at his hairline. He has fought Zarkon before, but why does he feel like a stuttering child now? 

_This monster is my grandfather. That’s why,_ he thinks. He was tied to the Galra Empire since his birth. He was always going to have to face Zarkon and his crusade at some point. It’s in Keith’s blood. 

They’re escorted into another room, this one more furnished than the other. Zarkon is just as much as behemoth as he was the last time Keith saw him. A hulking warlord from a long-forgotten desert clan. He wears his usual helm, the rest of his maroon armor dark and gleaming in the sub-lights of the chamber. He sits behind a large, opulent desk. All sorts of tablets and holograms are open, and he uses his index finger to scroll through them. He must be reading up on what has been happening to his Empire since Voltron almost annihilated him phoebs ago. 

“Disappointments atop disappointments,” Zarkon drawls, his eyes never leaving the screens. Keith hears the doors shut behind them, but the clank of armor proves the guards are still with them. By some strange miracle, could the four of them team up to take on Zarkon together? Keith almost scoffs aloud at the thought. Lotor is an opportunist, Sendak is disgraced, and his mother may become a prisoner of war if he’s not careful enough.

Zarkon finally looks up, his purple gaze eerie and cold. It leaves Keith reeling at how blank and inscrutable they are, like pools of quintessence slowly running dry. His gaze is schooled entirely on Keith, ignoring the others in the room. Zarkon leans back in his chair, elbows coming up to perch on the armrest as he steeples his hands together. 

“What’s your name, son?” Zarkon asks, his voice low and gravelly. 

Keith feels his chest rise and fall rapidly. He has to steady his breathing before speaking. Zarkon’s words rankle him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge.

“Keith,” he says, tilting his chin up in defiance.

Zarkon cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “I want your real name, boy, or I’ll give you a number.”

Out of the corner of Keith’s vision, he sees his mother make a gesture, a movement to speak aloud, but Zarkon’s deadly serpent gaze turns to her. Her fists clench as she keeps quiet. 

Keith licks his lips, steadying the wavering fury in his throat. “Kythel. That’s the name my mother gave me.”

Zarkon’s eyes turn back to Larka. “Is that true?”

Keith’s blood runs cold. He knows. He knows who Keith is to him. Larka doesn’t say anything, her knuckles turning pale lilac as her fists tighten even more. Just as Zarkon is about to say something else, Lotor opens his mouth. 

“Father,” he starts, “I beg you for the reason as to why you’ve gathered—”

Zarkon raises his right hand to stop Lotor. “I was talking to the traitor and her offspring. I did not give you permission to speak.”

Keith’s eyes widen at the choked sputter Lotor lets out. Lotor doesn’t have his father’s favor. He wasn’t expecting this. The bravado Lotor oozed like a miasma always left Keith thinking that the prince was the Emperor’s prized war horse, his secret weapon. Apparently, Zarkon disrespects his son just as much as he disrespects his daughter. Keith pockets this piece of information and takes a deep breath.

“I’m proud of the name my mother gave me,” Keith says. “I’m proud to be my mother’s son.”

He feels all the eyes in the room on him, even the guards. It’s the first time he’s openly admitted, even to himself, that he’s proud of his mother, that he understands why she abandoned him. If this is the man she was hiding him from, Keith doesn’t doubt that it was the better choice. What Keith doesn’t expect is the sudden low chuckling that turns into a bellow of laughter coming from his right. 

Sendak’s entire body shakes as he laughs, his shoulders turning in as he slouches forward.

“Your mother is Larka, daughter of Zarkon,” he says, still laughing through his words. “I thought you looked familiar and not just… not just because you fought by the Champion’s side. You’ve changed, cub.” He turns his one-eyed gaze towards Keith. “Tell me, is your mother still the scheming creature—”

“You wish to open your mouth now of all times?” Larka interrupts. “The mighty Commander Sendak fallen so low to have sided with my brother.”

“Kythel looks like his father, Larka. Does that spy know how conniving you are?” Sendak chuckles. “Or have you grown to become even more like that Altean you called mother? I think you and Lotor are just as crazy as her.” In a fit of desperation, Sendak turns to Zarkon. “My Emperor, my loyalty has always been to you, not to Larka and not to Lotor. Everything I’ve ever done beneath your command has been for the Empire and with your goals in mind.”

Keith feels more anger bubble to the surface. He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the groveling or the way Sendak speaks about his mother or even the backhanded anti-Altean remarks he makes about his grandmother. The first thing Keith will do once he destroys the Galra Empire with the help of the Blades and Voltron is root out all the xenophobic soldiers that—

“I’ve grown tired with this prattling. I’ve gained what I’ve needed,” Zarkon says. “Lotor, you will leave my warship. Take your generals with you. Carry on with whatever useless venture you have started, but do not stray too far. I will call upon you when you are needed.”

Lotor takes a sharp breath. Nodding tightly, he turns to leave. The doors slide open and shut, signaling his disappearance. For the first time since his arrival, Keith doesn’t truly know if he and his mother are going to get out alive. Zarkon is going to separate them.

The Emperor looks past them to the guards. “Escort Sendak to the Arena. Do not give him any prosthetics,” he looks at Sendak as the guards grab at his one arm. “I would not have done this for anyone else, but I trained you since you could hold your first mace in one hand. Prove your loyalty in the Arena and I will grant you your position within my military again.”

Sendak lets out a sigh of relief as he’s dragged from the room.

The chamber falls silent again and even with the stifling humidity, a chill travels down Keith's back. His arms feel stiff in their position. He shares a look with his mother, the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes mixing with rage. She realizes it too. The emperor is going to separate them. He’s going to have them interrogated. They are spies aboard his ship and Zarkon knows it. No amount of fragile familial bonds will stop Zarkon from finding out what he wants to know about Voltron or the rebel faction within his Empire. 

Keith wishes that he had begun his Blade training already, wishes that he was formally prepared for the torture that’s sure to begin. 

Zarkon flicks his index and middle finger up, signaling the guards behind them to seize Larka by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet. 

“Haggar wants you to be interrogated by her druids,” Zarkon says dryly. “I must agree with her.”

Keith makes a move to get up, to help his mother out of her restraints, to help her as she’s pulled towards the door. There is no use shouting or screaming or crying or struggling as another guard pushes him back down. 

He hears his mother calling his name as she’s pulled from the chamber, he hears her telling him to stay calm, but the blood pumping in his ears drowns out the purr of her voice. With anger and fear in his eyes, Keith faces his grandfather alone.

~~

Shiro dines in the observatory alone. He spears a vegetable on his utensil, staring at the pink color and the thin fibers of the plant’s flesh. Placing the food back on the plate, the utensil clattering down, Shiro leans back in his seat. He finds ever meal unappetizing since his return, his hunger gone. He looks out the large floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at the expansive blackness. The soft glow from the blue star beyond blurs at the edges of his vision. He hears someone enter the observatory, but he still stares out into the void.

Thace slides a tray on to the table, taking his seat. 

“Coran told me you’d be in here,” Thace says brusquely before digging into his own food. 

Shiro shrugs solemnly. “I wanted some privacy.”

Thace raises an eyebrow. “Allura doesn’t think you should be by yourself right now.” Keith’s father glances at Shiro’s plate before diving back in his own. “You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve been back for nearly a quintant,” Thace says, “and I haven’t seen you eat much.”

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“Someone has to,” Thace says before taking a sip of his drink. He pushes himself back in his seat and stares at Shiro. “You should know that we’ve finished interrogating the clone.”

The clone. Shiro grits his teeth. Was that what they did when they took his arm? Cloned him? Made him into a weapon? Were there more of him out there? Waiting to be injected into the war? Was that what Haggar meant when she said he was to be their greatest weapon?

“What did he say?”

“Well the communicator he had on him was being used to send and receive messages to and from Lotor,” Thace says. “But when we were deprogramming him, it seemed that there was an underlying protocol. He had another handler. One above Lotor’s ranking within the Empire.”

“Who?” Shiro asks, shifting in his seat. 

“Haggar,” Thace chuffs in irritation. 

Haggar. Keith’s grandmother. Allura’s aunt. His overseer. Scrubbing his metal hand across his face gently, Shiro sighs. 

“So how did Lotor manage to get Haggar’s weapon away from her?” he asks.

“We don’t know yet,” Thace answers. “Kolivan had him put in a sleep pod for now. Until we know what we’re up against.”

Thace’s words ease some of the tension off his shoulders, but he still can’t stop thinking about the clone. How long had the clone been active? Had… had he done anything to Keith? Did he hurt him? Shiro shakes his head. The only thing he does know now is that Keith had gone after his mother and they were both aboard a Galra ship somewhere across space. 

Could he have protected Keith if he had just gotten back sooner? He had been with Matt and the rebels after they managed to release him from… No, he can’t even begin to process this. It’s something that he would have discussed with Keith; but right now, the best people to talk to about all he and Matt had endured are Lance and Allura. 

Ruminating over his thoughts, he turns back to Thace.

“Do you know… do you know if the clone had hurt Keith?” he asks, tentatively.

Thace winces at his words, uncomfortable by the change in their conversation.

“They were fighting a lot,” the Galran admits. “But we all thought that he was you. We thought you were brainwashed, not that there was—”

“A clone?” Shiro supplies. 

Thace gives a tight nod, but continues, “I don’t think Keith would have tolerated being hurt by you _or_ a clone of you. You need not worry about that.”

Shiro smiles faintly. Thace is right. Even if Keith’s first instinct is to pull away from someone, he would have physically challenged Shiro if it came to that. Keith wouldn’t have rolled over for him, clone or not. 

“When we get him back,” Thace starts, “and we will get him back, you realize he won’t look the same as you left?”

“He’s still Keith,” he says, “I don’t care if he looks Galran or Altean or human. He’s still Keith to me.”

Thace gives him a smile. “Good.”

For a tick, Shiro feels like he is being tested by his boyfriend’s dad. He chuckles. 

Thace furrows his brows. “What is it?”

“Keith and I… we first met at the Garrison after his adopted dad died. He was excited. He really wanted to be a pilot, you know? But he was also really withdrawn. Really, _really_ aloof. But when I started talking to him, we were just friends. When he finally opened up to me, I think he was really scared of making friends, having a family. For a long time, it had just been him and Mick Kogane. He never told me about his mom, hell, he never even really mentioned the blade he kept.”

Thace is quiet, listening carefully to his words. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that Keith hasn’t been really trusting of people. He’s very observant, thoughtful when he wants to be, a hothead when he gets angry, but I love him. And I’m glad that you and his mom are around now, to look out for him.”

Thace flushes, almost embarrassed by Shiro’s considerate words. 

“Kythel may be an adult, but he’s still my son,” Thace says. “I’ll do what I can to help him when he needs it.”

“Which is why I’m telling you that I want him to continue being the black paladin,” Shiro admits.

Thace narrows his eyes, baffled. “What do you mean?”

“Lance told me that Keith’s piloting Black just fine,” he says. “I know he’s going to want to train, but—”

“Shiro… this is something the both of you will have to discuss together,” Thace says. “I can’t interfere in something like that.”

Shiro understands. He only hopes that Keith understands where he’s coming from too. He has no doubt that Keith will want to train alongside the Blades, but will he be able to handle it? Will Team Voltron be able to handle it? 

Before they can say more, Pidge skates into the room and when Shiro looks down at her feet his eyes widen in disbelief.

“Hey, boys! Guess what I got?”

“Where in the world did you find rollerblades?”

“Bought them,” she smirks, kicking her left leg back to roll forward on her right foot. “Matt and I went to the space mall. The green guy was selling them half off and I had to get them. I got another pair for Umaala, but she looks like a puppy with booties on. The struggle is real for poor Umaala.” Pidge nearly glides into the table. “So… are the two of you done sulking because your mates went on some suicide mission without telling us or can we get to work now?”

Thace lets out a chuff of laughter at Pidge’s audaciousness. 

“We were not sulking,” Shiro says, cracking a smile.

“Sure,” Pidge mocks. She skates around the room once more before heading to the door. “Well, Slav’s calling an emergency meeting in his lab, so I’d hurry up with your _not_ sulking moment.”

Thace and Shiro straighten up in their seats at that. 

“What sort of emergency meeting?” Thace asks.

“Something about some anomaly three quadrants over.”

~~

Keith is sure he’s been standing about four vargas now, his legs growing stiff as he watches Zarkon sit at his desk. The Emperor tabs through holograms and when various high-ranking commanders enter the chamber with reports, he takes them with a brisk nod before dismissing them. The commanders only toss a confused look at Keith from his position against the far wall. When his legs burn incessantly, and he feels like he’s starting to fold in on himself, he finally speaks up.

“What are your druids going to do to my mom?” he asks, tersely. 

Zarkon is silent for a dobosh, before speaking. “What they should have done a long time ago.”

Keith doesn’t quite understand the Emperor’s words. Are they going to program her to follow orders? Are they going to torture her for information about the Blade of Marmora? Will they execute her? What is a proper interrogation in the eyes of the Emperor and his High Priestess? Keith swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“You shouldn’t worry about Larka,” says Zarkon, his voice coarse and coiling like a snake around his throat. It’s grating and dark. Keith would rather listen to his father’s strong tenor or his mother’s soft contralto. Smooth and purring and comforting. “I’ve seen your dam slither her way out of situations more difficult than this. I assure you.”

Zarkon continues, finally tabbing down his holograms to lean back in his seat and appraise Keith fully. 

“I must assume that you have inherited that wily demeanor,” he says. “I remember fighting you before. Though, you weren’t in this skin. Your grandmother’s genes must be strong as well. Regardless, I was impressed with your skill, but you lack discipline. From that fight alone, I can tell that your mother did not train you. So, instead she hid you from me, correct? Where?”

_The same place she hid the Blue Lion, you jackass monster._

“It doesn’t matter,” Zarkon speaks instead. “Larka made the wrong choice in hiding you from me. There is nothing in this universe that can stay hidden from me for long.”

“Except it took you ten thousand years to even figure out the location of the Black Lion,” he snarls. He instantly regrets it, attempting to curb his tongue in the aftermath. 

Zarkon’s facial expression does not change. He only tilts his head to the side, looking Keith up and down.

“It is unfortunate how alike you and your mother truly are,” Zarkon says. “When she was your age, she never knew when to keep quiet. How old are you, boy?”

“Twenty deca-phoebs,” he says, stubbornly. 

“If your mother had kept you here where I could have trained you, you could have become an asset to the Galra Empire,” Zarkon admits, “a skilled warrior who knew how to use a blade correctly. That is your chosen weapon, correct?”

Uneasiness fills his gut. There is a reason his mother hid him. Zarkon will use him to his advantage. Whatever Zarkon’s end game is, Keith wants no part in it. The warlord of the Galra Empire is nefarious and sadistic. He has no doubts that given the chance, Zarkon would have executed Thace if his parents’ relationship came to light. There is so compassion in this man. Whatever kindness was there has long since disappeared. 

“What about my father? If my mother brought me to you, what would you have done to her husband? Would you have approved of them being together? You think you know what is best for me. Training me to be some sort of weapon or following in your footsteps as some heir. My parents knew what was best for me and sending me far away from you was probably the best choice they ever made,” he says, blood pumping wildly in his ears. He’s walking a fine line and if he slips he could be locked in a cell forever. 

“I have no use for an heir,” Zarkon says, flippantly. “That is a declaration I have made that both Lotor and Larka struggle with understanding. It is why their loyalty is so malleable. I don’t care for their side projects and I have no use for them.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Your mother made the wrong choice, boy. I’m not surprised she married some saboteur pilot charged with espionage and subterfuge. She never did listen,” he drones on.

“Did you love my grandmother?” Keith asks, desperation leaking into his voice. “Honerva, right? My mom still talks about her, even if it’s usually criticism.” Keith pauses, treading carefully. “If there’s a part of you that still cares and loves her, then you can understand why my mother did everything she could to keep me away from you. You can’t control Voltron. The Black Lion won’t accept you as a paladin and you won’t be able to force him away from me either.”

“You are a brazen little kit,” Zarkon says, slightly amused, but his patience is running thin. “I don’t need an heir. You are here because I need a paladin.”

“What?” Keith asks, breathless. A paladin? Does he realize he needs a team in order to use Voltron? 

“You and your mother will be staying here until we’ve reclaimed Voltron and I can properly rebuild what this Empire has lost. Perhaps by then you may have a sense of appreciation for what I’ve created.”


	7. White Lion

A sweeping swath of bright light glares across the front windows of the bridge. In the glimmer of the anomaly, the back end of a sleek ship peeks through like a beacon. The front end of the Altean vessel is pushed through the rift, disappearing from this time and space. The strangeness of the anomaly and the vision of the Altean exploration vessel fills Allura with unease. Even throughout that feeling, she purses her lips as Lance sidles up next to her. 

“Are you sure you want to just take the Green Lion close to that thing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Allura takes a glance at him. “What do you mean? We have no other choice. Pidge’s upgrades will take care of us.”

“We have Voltron,” Lance says. “We can form Voltron and go through that thing if you really want, but we don’t know anything about it. It’s too much of a risk.”

“And that’s why Slav assembled a team of us to investigate the ship,” she says.

“Yeah, he wanted you to investigate the anomaly, not board some Altean space ship that you haven’t seen in centuries,” Lance counters, exasperation leaking into his voice. “Allura, we can take Voltron through. I’ll support you if that’s what you want to do.”

“We don’t have a pilot for Black.”

“Yes, we do. Shiro can pilot him,” he says. “When Shiro was gone, Keith had to pilot Black. Shiro needs to do the same in Keith’s absence.”

“I’m not going to force him to pilot Black.” Allura clenches her fists before looking back at Lance. “You aren’t even supposed to be here. You should have stayed with Hunk back at Marmora headquarters.”

“And not even make sure you’re safe going through some blackhole?” Lance scoffs aloud. “That’s not how I roll.”

Allura’s cheeks flush. She has become much closer to Lance during the past few phoebs and she’s not entirely sure how to process it. Yet there’s something about the flirtatious alien and his rounded ear cartilage that gives her some sense of comfort through the haziness of the last couple of quintants.

“That’s… that’s not the point, Lance. You’re supposed to be planning the extraction,” Allura says, her cheeks still tinged pink. 

Lance opens his mouth to counter her argument, but Coran pipes up from his console. 

“Princess, you’re needed in the Green Lion’s bay. They’re ready,” he says, fingers fiddling with his mustache as if he’s not eavesdropping in on their conversation.

Allura steps off the dais. 

“Thank you, Coran.”

Lance’s hand strikes out, gently wrapping around Allura’s wrist. 

“Let me go with you,” he says. “Please.”

“I’ll be fine,” Allura smiles feebly. “Matt, Shiro, Pidge, and Ulaz will be with me. We’re just investigating. That’s all. We’ll be back before you have time to miss me.” She doesn’t know why she says that, but her belly fills with warmth at the blush on Lance’s cheeks. 

She feels the faint touch of Lance’s thumb smoothing across the back of her hand, but just as quickly as it happens, he pulls away. 

“Call us for back up and Red and I will come get you.” Lance’s voice is uncharacteristically stern.

She nods, hurrying from the bridge before she can embarrass herself further. When she arrives at the hanger, Shiro and Ulaz are standing outside Green’s open maw. 

“Pidge and Matt are already inside,” Shiro says. “What took you so long?”

“Lance and I were talking,” she murmurs, heading up the ramp first and taking the short walk to the cockpit. 

Shiro’s eyebrows raise and he looks over to Ulaz who only shrugs in response. 

Pidge flies them in slow. She cloaks Green, claiming it’s for extra precaution. As they get closer, Allura’s belly clenches uncomfortably. The glossy white paint of the ship is chipping. How long has the ship been out here? And why?

She doesn’t realize she’s asked her questions aloud until Ulaz speaks. 

“Perhaps it was an expedition gone wrong?”

“During the start of war?” she ponders.

Ulaz grits his teeth. “Did you know if your father had sent a science ship out as a part of an exodus protocol?”

Did he? Would Alfor have sent a ship full of refugees out before Zarkon could commit genocide on the Altean people? And were the survivors even alive aboard the ship?

“Pidge, can you take us in closer?” Shiro asks. 

Gripping the controls tightly, Pidge looks over her shoulder briefly. “Yes, but how close do you want to get?”

“Can we go in?” Allura asks, breathless. 

“What?” She hears the word echo around her and even through the communication link, she can hear Coran and Lance sputter. 

“You want to go through the rift?” Lance says, agitated. “With just one Lion?” 

“We need a closer look.” Allura’s hand reaches for Pidge’s shoulder. “We need to see if there’s anything or anyone aboard.”

“Pidge, why don’t you send another probe out?” Matt asks.

“The last one got destroyed,” Pidge answers, shrugging.

“Or… we could go through it?” Allura’s words are tentative. Almost as if she’s scared to even say what she wants in that moment. She has a moral obligation to evaluate the exploration ship. It is something that has been percolating through her mind for phoebs. She’s no longer just a princess, although she’s more partial to the title. With her father and mother dead, she is Queen Allura now. She needs to know if her people are alive. She needs to know why her father sent this science team out here alone…

“You guys could form Voltron, right?” Matt starts.

“No,” Shiro says abruptly. 

Across the communication link, Lance sighs loudly, mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?” Shiro asks. 

“Nothing,” Lance says. “Nothing at all.” 

“If we cannot get a probe close enough to the rift, we must get closer ourselves,” Allura says. “We have to do it. We are paladins of Voltron and if there are people aboard that ship, we have to help.”

“Princess…” 

“We were just supposed to examine the anomaly for Slav,” Matt starts again. For a moment, Allura thinks he’ll say they should turn around. “But if that’s a science ship sent by your dad, maybe they were taking something somewhere.”

“Or bringing something back,” Ulaz says. “I agree with Matt and Princess Allura. It is your duty to figure out what happened here. The Green Lion should be able to handle the rift. We may be knocked around for a few ticks, but if nothing is there we can always return.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen. “You’re serious?”

Allura nods. “Please.”

The tension in the cockpit is stifling before Pidge tightens her hold on the controls with sweaty palms. 

“Alright, come on, girl. You heard the princess. Take us in slow,” Pidge says, licking her upper lip nervously. “But if anything bad happens—”

“You turn back around,” Lance says through communication link. 

“Roger that,” Pidge mutters.

“Stay in contact with us the entire time,” Coran adds. 

Slowly and with steady hands, Pidge guides them closer and closer to the glow of the rift. The light is bright and yellow and Allura can feel the quintessence arching out, reaching for her. It’s so unlike the controlled environment Larka creates for them in the gymnasium where she teaches Allura alchemy and the druid arts. It is different from the refined energy glowing pink and warm, gently palpitating in her hands as Allura breathes life into it. This is different, unbridled and violent. It doesn’t caress over her, but instead grabs at her hands, pulling and stretching her limbs. How does Haggar control this fierce energy? 

Allura swallows around the nausea bubbling at the back of her throat. The quintessence makes her feel seasick. Summers spent at Aunt Fala’s private abode. Building sandcastles on pink beaches with Larka and Lotor. Soaking up the rays from the warm sun. Lounging on the decks of luxury sea ships, feeling the spray of clear green oceans and the sudden overwhelming nausea that would make her belly ache. She’d have to hang her head over the edge of the railing. Aunt Fala would braid her hair away from her face. Larka would get her a cool glass of mineral water filled with crushed ice that she could chew. Lotor’s small hand would rub soothing circles onto her back. They would return to shore soon after and her parents would be waiting for them to go to the berry festival. 

Allura’s eyes burn at the thought, just as the glowing rift takes them in, tangling its tendrils of light around the Green Lion. 

_Do you feel that?_ she wants to ask. But all she does is swallow around the memory of a time long gone. Of sweet drinks and summers at the shore. Of diplomatic summits and eating sugary pastries under the table with her cousins. Of bedtime stories and a glass vase filled with juniberry flowers handpicked by her mother. 

“Lance?” she calls out as they finally exit the rift. A roar of energy rushes past her ears. Silence greets her.

“Coran? Lance?” It’s Shiro. And like she’s finally coming back to herself, she blinks awake, taking in the void beyond the glass. Ulaz has a grip on her shoulder, as if at some point through the rift she had almost fallen over. Shiro and Matt are on the ground, limbs splayed awkwardly. 

The only sound coming from the communication link is static. 

“Well, there’s the front end of the ship,” Pidge says, nodding over to the exploration vessel. Carefully, she shifts the Green Lion around. “And the Castle is gone.”

“We really made it through…” Matt comments, silently cursing under his breath in surprise.

Allura grits her teeth. “We need to get aboard that ship.”

~~

Ulaz hates when he’s right. He hates when he sees something happening right before his eyes, doubting the events that will soon occur. He hates when he murmurs something to Kolivan and the man won’t listen to him, claiming that he’s in violation of insubordination. He hates how he saw that kit and knew right away that he was Thace’s son. He hates how the boy didn’t stay on Earth, but somehow found his way home. He hates how he saw this all coming from far away. Old stories should stay buried in the past, but it seems the last ten thousand years has reared its ugly head.

If there’s one thing he doesn’t agree with it is death. The ultimate sacrifice. Victory or death. Knowledge or death. He can’t stomach the thought… that his people are focused on death so much that they are willing to relinquish their lives in pursuit of the greater good. But it’s this protocol that he is willing to follow without question. He was ready to give up his life to the robeast so that Voltron could get away, but Larka had dispatched a team to intercept and answer his distress call. She hadn’t hesitated to send help. She had been happy when her son had saved her husband, knowing that Thace still drew breath. It seems even his founder dislikes the rules that were established so long ago. So why does Kolivan _and_ Larka still implement them? 

_“We located the second comet based on King Alfor’s information. We managed to get it aboard, but it seems to be causing massive disturbances. We’re heading back to Altea, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it that far. At this rate—”_ There’s shouting and yelling off-screen as the monocle-wearing captain’s video cuts out. The feed becomes distorted and Princess Allura pauses and rewinds it for the twentieth time.

“We should take the comet and get off this ship,” Matt says. “Staying here isn’t going to do us any good.”

“But what about the biorhythms?” Pidge asks. 

“If there’s one thing that I’ve learned by staying with the rebels,” Matt starts, “it’s that you shouldn’t stay in an unfamiliar place for too long.”

“Whoever is on this ship with us may not know where our location is,” Shiro adds. “We should leave. Allura? Let’s go.”

“J-just give me a tick,” she says, rewinding the video feed to play it again. 

The Blade ignores the look Shiro shoots at him. 

_“We located the second comet based on King Alfor’s information we managed to get it aboard, but it seems to be causing massive disturbances. We’re heading—”_ Ulaz walks closer to Allura, placing a hand on hers to stop her from sliding her fingers on the screen. 

“Stop, Allura,” he says.

“Why in the Ancients' names would my father be trying to get a second comet?” Her voice is tense. 

Ulaz hates this. The Blade of Marmora is built upon secrecy and trust. He trusts Princess Allura. He trusts the paladins and their team. And he was never one for following protocol. 

“There were rumors a long time ago among Zarkon’s ranks that King Alfor, although initially skeptical, was interested in his sister’s work. It was only Empress Honerva’s obsessive nature that pushed her brother away. With Zarkon’s unwillingness to curb his wife’s desires, King Alfor decided not to pursue her research further,” Ulaz explains.

“So, the Galra people believed that Alfor wanted to open some rift?” Matt asks, squinting in annoyance. 

“Yes,” Ulaz answers, “but it was an old tale told to children after Daibazaal was destroyed. The military and druid factions used it to show that the Alteans weren’t all innocent, that they were after the quintessence that Haggar and the druids had so masterfully harnessed.”

“It was propaganda,” Pidge states matter-of-factly. 

“Larka and Kolivan made sure that rumor stayed far away from the Marmora libraries,” Ulaz says. “It was used to recruit more students to druid arts. I’m assuming Haggar… _Honerva_ gained more power within the Empire after her resurrection using that type of propaganda. Not all the military commanders believed in this focus on quintessence, but Haggar always had Zarkon’s ear.”

“Do you think Zarkon knows Haggar is his wife? Larka and Allura didn’t know. We don’t know if Lotor knows.” Shiro looks back and forth between Ulaz and Allura.

“No Blades have come forth with that type of information yet,” Ulaz continues. “If Zarkon does know, he’s guarded the secret well. How he did that when not even Haggar knows who she is; I do not have the answer to that. But even if Zarkon controls his empire, Haggar has always been more than an advisor to him. She’s the Empire’s High Priestess. She trained Larka herself. But now we know why she holds so many high positions of power.”

“Why would my father keep this from me?” Allura asks, turning around to face Ulaz. “Why hide the fact that he was about to be in possession of another comet? If it was causing disturbances aboard the ship, then that could be why this vessel is halfway through this portal. The comet made the rift on Daibazaal. My father could have had a comet to make more Lions and a rift to follow through with my aunt’s research.”

“They were both alchemists, Princess Allura. Your father did indeed create the Lions. And perhaps he was going to create another, perhaps one to replace Black in the event that Zarkon was compromised. But what is done is done… and it has grown apparent that he may have never had the chance to follow through with Honerva’s research,” Ulaz counters. 

Allura turns back to the screen, about to press play again, but this time Pidge comes to her side.

“Allura, let’s take the comet and get out of here,” she says. “We can sort through all of this later.”

After a brief pause, the princess nods tightly. There is a strain on her forehead, lines deep as she furrows her eyebrows together. Ulaz wishes he could do more, be a source of much needed wisdom, but that isn’t his true forte. 

“Load it up and let’s get out of here,” she says. “And once we get through, I want to close this rift. Permanently.”

~~

“Isamu, do you copy?”

“Yes, Sven, I copy, just give me a moment.” A pause. “Akira, Akira, wait! Stop following them! We had a surveillance job. That’s it.”

“I just want to see what they do.”

“We need to report this back to your dads at headquarters,” Isamu groans. “Let’s go!” 

“A few more ticks, just give me a few more ticks,” Akira says, sweeping her white bangs back from her forehead. 

“We have an Altean vessel approaching,” Slav says through the communication link. “We are bringing the shuttle near the loading dock once those foreigners leave. Meet us there in five doboshes.”

“Sincline is going to be pissed,” Isamu says, through clenched teeth.

“Sincline is always pissed,” Akira mutters. “It’s just that human in the white and black armor looks like—”

“Your sire?” Isamu asks, sarcastically. “Yeah, I know. And that’s who we’re going to see soon if you would get your ass moving.”

“I was going to say Sven,” Akira says, “but yes, he looks like Takashi.”

“I do not care who he looks like,” Slav shouts in the comm link. “The two of you need to hurry up or I’m blowing up this ship myself!”

“He really needs to relax,” Isamu says under his breath.

“I heard that!”

“We need to leave, before Commander Hira gets here, Chief,” Isamu says, grabbing Akira’s upper arm. “She’s a pain in the ass and you know it.”

“Yes.” With one last look at the odd group of space travelers, Akira says, “Let’s go home.”

~~

The white light is blinding as the Green Lion hurtles through the rift again, blowing the back end of the exploration ship completely through the portal. Allura grits her teeth, hands gripping the back of Pidge’s chair. This feeling is more unusual than the last. The nausea is gone. Instead she feels the vibrations of plasma fire and the smell of ozone in her nose.

When her eyes finally focus on the expansive blackness of the void, she spots the Castle, particle barrier up and taking damage as Lotor’s ships fire beams of plasma. The sheer gossamer of electric blue barely prevents the next volley as Lotor’s plasma cannon sends a striking shot of violet towards the Green Lion.


	8. Mothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: torture, violence, and mild gaslighting.

Fourteen quintants have passed. Or what seems like fourteen quintants. The military runs on some type of nocturnal time. The only thing that marks the change from day to night is the dimming and brightening of the purple sub-lights. Keith hears people bustle around outside his door. The stomping of boots as soldiers start their nightly drills, the deep clang from the robot sentries on patrol, the swish of robes as druids pass through the halls. The servants are the only ones who make no noise. He would think they did not exist if it weren’t for the meals sent down to his quarters every six vargas or the fact that every time he comes out of the shower his flight suit and paladin armor are cleaned. He would give anything to eat something other than these dehydrated rations. He really has to gnash his carnassial teeth and work his jaw in order to tear into a piece of meat he is served.

A small circular window above the bed shows the freezing space outside the ship. As time passes he finds himself staring out that window more and more, almost eager to float himself into the void. 

Keith doesn’t know if Zarkon has forgotten him or is using this isolation as some sort of test. How long will it take for him to break? For him to start throwing food or trying to make weapons out of broken armor and shredded bed sheets. But if Zarkon was going to isolate him or try to make him go mad, he doubts the Emperor would use nonviolence. Zarkon has always used deadly force and on occasion psychological warfare. 

Besides Zarkon, Keith worries about his mother. He’s received no word from her. He doesn’t know what he had been expecting. Some mystical message in a dream or some animal with a note attached to its back. He holds out until the eighth quintant, half-expecting for his mother to burst into his room. She’ll have some escape pod ready and they’d be gone before Haggar could dispatch a robeast. 

Before he had met his father, before Keith had really known his mother and the Blades, Kolivan hadn’t heard back from Thace. The leader had expected the worse. Thace could have been dead. He could have been found out. The Blades’ plans had to change to include Team Voltron. And then Keith had met _him_. They had fought side-by-side. It wasn’t until they were heading back to Marmora headquarters that Keith had learned why he hadn’t contacted Kolivan at the appropriate time. He had been tortured by Haggar and her druids, chained up for questioning, volts of electricity circulating through his body as they desperately tried to get any piece of information out of him. But Thace was battle-hardened and the interrogation was no match for a seasoned warrior like him.

Or that’s what some idealistic part of Keith’s psyche thought when he had heard the story. He only hopes Larka can handle the interrogation. 

But the most regretful thing that fills him with anguish and some ridiculous sensation, like he’s been lied to, is Shiro. He still can’t wrap his head around this whole mole incident and he hasn’t even had the opportunity to speak with his mother about it. It’s been nearly half a phoeb. Was Shiro… was he secretly with Lotor? Had he been brainwashed by the druids? Or did he do something to Voltron on his own freewill?

Keith’s stomach churns at the thought. He shakes his head for the hundredth time. 

“There is no way he betrayed us,” he says aloud. His voice is gravelly, and his throat feels dry even though his captors are giving him food and water. 

There’s a knock on his door, before it automatically slides open. Privacy seems to be a foreign concept here. He’s expecting his third meal, but they usually just appear during the moments he steps into the bathroom. Instead, he’s greeted by a sentry who stands in the doorway. 

“Prince Kythel,” announces the guard, “His Imperial Majesty summons you to dine in his private chambers.”

Keith’s lip curls at his title. It had been a joke among friends before. Umaala and Lance would tease him, as would Allura and Coran. But it had been a joke before. Now, it’s suddenly real. Zarkon had said the line of succession would never come to fruition, but he’s a stickler for the caste system and imperial titles. Keith’s mother is the princess of the Galra Empire and he is her son. The sentry is doing nothing wrong by addressing him by that title, but it does cause the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Irritation settles in like a heady drug. Zarkon’s dubbed Larka a traitor and a prisoner. He’s subjecting her, the Galra Empire’s princess, to torture. To the Emperor, she isn’t Princess Larka. And because of that, a stubborn part of him doesn’t want to be referred to as Prince Kythel. 

“Please, just call me Keith.” 

There is awkwardness to the sentry’s movements, like it doesn’t understand the request. Are these things even sentient or do the druids program them to be faithful pawns without reason?

“I am sorry, Your Imperial Highness, but you are Prince Kythel here,” the sentry says, haughtily. 

Whatever empathy and appetite for food Keith had has disappeared. The arrogance in the robot’s tone makes the irritation form anew. 

Keith grits his teeth as he’s led to the floor above. He’s not being kept on some _prisoners_ floor. He’s sandwiched on a level filled with the children of ambassadors, high-ranking officers, and druids. Many of them are already old enough to serve in the military or within the druids’ order. Those too young remind him of the few at Marmora headquarters, giggling and shoving past each other, horsing around in elevator shafts. But many of them don’t meet his gaze and he wonders if that has anything to do with his ranking within the empire or if they were instructed to ignore him. 

At this rate, he’d rather be sharing a cell with Sendak.

When Keith arrives at Zarkon’s private rooms, he finds the emperor already tucked into his meal… and it’s strangely domestic. The Emperor has a datapad turned on as he spears what looks like rare-cooked, bloody meat on his spork. Keith grows still as his appetite returns at the promise of fresh and tender food.

“Sit, Kythel,” Zarkon says after chewing a mouthful. 

Gritting his teeth, Keith circles around the long dining table and takes his seat to Zarkon’s left where a hot plate of meat, vegetables, and steamed grain awaits him. A glass of orange-colored juice rests beside his utensils. 

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” Keith asks. “Or only when you want something from me?”

“I’m not trying to win you over, paladin,” Zarkon says. It sounds so rehearsed, like he expected Keith’s mockery. 

Keith counts six guards in total. Four Galrans and two sentries. He’d die if he struck Zarkon with his metal spork. Is it worth it?

“Eat, Kythel.”

He bristles at the order. 

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” Keith starts. “I’m here to kill you and bring my mom home.”

Zarkon’s gaze lifts from the datapad, shifting over to look at his grandson lazily. 

“You should be put to death for those words.” 

Keith swallows around the tightness in his throat. 

“You will begin training tomorrow,” Zarkon continues. “ _Proper_ physical training with a tutor so you can learn some swordsmanship and polearm combat. You’ll be assigned a tutor for your academics: statecraft, warfare, some philosophy will do you good.”

Keith’s eyes widen. _What the hell is going on?_

“The druids will have to test you for your science studies,” the Emperor drones on. “I’ll let Haggar handle that. She should have an aptitude exam prepared. Your mother excelled at it. I don’t have any doubts that you will as well. However, you will have to gain my trust before you begin your pilot simulation and—”

“I-if you think this is how you’re going to get anything out of me,” Keith interrupts, “promising me whatever _this_ is, it’s not going to work, Zarkon. You can’t just replace me because Lotor’s lost your favor or because my mother won’t tell you any secrets.” Keith swallows around the tightness in his throat. “I’m not Lotor and I’m not my mother. I won’t give you the location of—”

Zarkon’s utensil clatters on the plate when he drops it to raise his hand. “I do not care about the terrorists and their campaigns and goals. The Galra Empire is stronger than it has ever been. I’m weeding out the weakness and revitalizing it with the healthy. You will begin your studies here. This is where you were supposed to be raised, but your mother chose otherwise. I’m rectifying that poor choice,” Zarkon pauses. “But I do need the location of the Black Lion to continue forth, to make sure our place in the universe is sturdier than before. And then we can properly continue on with the Galra Empire’s true goals.”

Fear flickers at the borders of Keith’s vision. A frigid chill trickles down his spine and his hands go clammy in his lap. He hasn’t touched his food yet and he doesn’t think he will. The grain looks cold, the steam vanishing. The meat sags in on itself while the vegetables are shriveling. He wishes this entire thing was a joke, an illusion; but when he looks back at his grandfather, he knows it’s not. What is the Galra Empire’s true goals outside of finding the Lions? 

“You really expect me to hand over Black’s location?” he asks, hands balling into fists.

A shadow crosses over Zarkon’s face. His eerie violet gaze scrutinizing Keith as he leans back in his seat. He wants to look away, but he knows that if he does then Zarkon wins.

“Your mother and father are trained. They have been corrupting my ranks for centuries before you were born. You are not trained, and I’m giving you the opportunity to rid yourself of that corruption before it has time to take root.”

Keith’s mind races. They’ve been trying to get answers from his mother and maybe their interrogations have failed. Keith breathes a sigh of relief, but he either shows it on his face or Zarkon has other plans. 

“You will begin your training and studies tomorrow, but for now,” the Emperor pauses, “I will have Haggar figure out the location and you can remain by your mother’s side for the remainder of the night.”

Although Keith feels elated by his grandfather’s words, the motion of two soldiers gripping under his armpits and pulling him from his seat makes his heart drop to his stomach. Zarkon has already gone back to his datapad and bloody meal, ignoring Keith’s rather aggressive egress. 

He’s shoved down the corridor and into a corner lift. He watches the lights flicker up as the elevator goes down. The guards haven’t released him. Their grips only tighten as the lift stops. Keith cannot even keep track of what level he is on anymore.

~~

“I’ve received a transmission from Hazar,” Dorma announces as she enters the summit chamber. She halts, falling quiet as the paladin of the Yellow Lion and Kolivan speak heatedly. The Marmora leader’s face is placid, but stoic as usual. Dorma can see the lines of tension on his forehead, the furrow of his brows showing concern. The gray scar on his face is wrinkled and almost metallic in the light. His normally tightly braided hair is fraying at the edges, desperate for a trim and some oil.

The paladin of Voltron also looks tired and in need of some grooming. His orange strip of cloth is wrapped around his neck, leaving his hair to fall into his face. It sticks up in different angles as he rakes a large hand through it, scrubbing at his scalp in agitation. They need baths and sleep, but she doubts she’d be able to coerce either of them into doing it. 

“Dorma? What is it?” Kolivan asks aloud. 

She shakes her head, realizing that they’re staring at her and she has been looking bemused since she arrived. She gives a hesitant smile. The first time her brother had contacted her, it was to say that Zarkon was still alive and well, nursed back to health by a steady stream of quintessence and his faithful advisor. But this new coded message seems more illustrious and so very needed in this time of despair.

“Hazar says our moment to take Gal is upon us,” Dorma reports. “There’s been movement at the druid temples. For the next few quintants, many of them are heading back to what remains of Central Command and Zarkon’s dreadnought.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Wait,” he drawls. “Why are so many druids leaving for Central Command? Is there some kind of meeting going on? Some kind of dark magic ball? A seance summit?”

Kolivan purses his lips, letting out a long sigh. “We haven’t heard back from Larka or Kythel. We can only assume that they have not been able to kill Zarkon. And I doubt they’ll have a chance to do so now. Perhaps the druids are going to Imperial headquarters to deal with them.” 

“What about the extraction plan?” Dorma asks.

“For now, Larka and Kythel will be on their own until we can properly extricate them.”

Dorma watches the twitch in Hunk’s jaw at the prospect of leaving a comrade behind. She feels it too. Larka had recruited her five hundred deca-phoebs ago from the druids' order. They had trained together, been on missions and assignments together. Abandoning the mother and son is something Dorma hadn’t wanted to think about. 

“I-I have to go check on the others,” Hunk says, turning his eyes down to the floor and leaving the room.

Swallowing around the guilt, Dorma asks, “What happened to the others?”

“Slav sent them on a mission to a space anomaly. Turns out it was a rift from…” Kolivan chuffs angrily. “That stupid rumor about the second comet. I don’t understand why Alfor would want to have it unless it was because he expected Zarkon to betray the other paladins.” Kolivan shakes his head. “The mission didn’t go so well.”

“What happened?” she asks hesitantly. 

“They were thrashed around like grenades in can,” Kolivan says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They pulled the comet out and Lotor was waiting for them. He probably delivered Larka and Kythel to Zarkon and went right back to doing whatever it is he does. Perhaps I should have let Larka kill him.”

“ _Knowledge or Death_ ,” Dorma recites grimly. “ _Perhaps_ knowing what Lotor is trying to accomplish is the better option.”

“We can’t even get close enough to him to gain that knowledge, Dorma.” Kolivan looks even more exhausted by that confession. “They finally made it back to base after Lotor took the comet, but the young paladin… she took the brunt of that battle.”

“She is resilient,” Dorma says. “Pidge will get back up stronger than before.”

There’s a flicker in his expression, almost as if he’s reminded of something. But the expression is gone as quickly as it arrived. 

“I will check if Lance’s plan is almost completed,” Kolivan says, straightening his stance and heading to the door. “If Hazar says the colony will be significantly lacking druids, we will have our opportunity.”

Dorma’s eyebrows furrow in question. “Opportunity?”

For the first time in the past few quintants, Dorma sees a smile climb up Kolivan’s face. 

“Shiro wants Voltron to thrash Lotor around for a bit. I intend on enjoying that while we seize Gal and deliver it to the other rebels. We’re all going to need a shared headquarters for the resistance.”

~~

Keith wants to vomit at the sight of his mother. Bruised and battered, she’s spread-eagle on a vertical gurney. She wears the attire of a slave: a torn black bodysuit and a tattered gray tunic. Her exposed pale lavender skin is mottled in plum-colored contusions. Her dark purple hair is a tangle of sweat-drenched locks. She’s breathing heavy, head bowed forward. When she looks up at him, her golden yellow eyes widen.

“What is he doing here?” Larka rasps. “Just when we were getting reacquainted, you want to bring guests.”

Haggar’s hooded figure turns around to face him and the guards.

“The Emperor wishes for the boy to be tortured in front of his mother,” the guard says mildly. “Only for the next few vargas or until she starts being compliant.”

“Bring forth another gurney.” 

A frenetic look takes hold of Larka, eyes narrowing. Keith feels frozen, his shoulders aching from the position he’s held in. 

“Haggar, no,” Larka says. “T-this isn’t necessary.”

“You haven’t answered any of my questions and you insist on playing games,” the witch says. “You’ve brought this upon yourself, child.”

Keith’s eyes wide with fear and discomfort when he hears the sound of squeaking metal. Another guard brings in a gurney, rotating it into a vertical position beside his mom. When he’s being shoved towards the torturous device, he begins to struggle. 

“Mother, Mother, please,” Larka begs. “I’ll tell you everything. Please! The kit, he c-can’t—”

Just as Keith has managed to hit one guard in the throat with a flailing limb, he hears a high-pitched screech. He watches with glassy eyes as a pulse of void magic jolts into his mother. The quintessence is jagged and electric and dark. He smells burning flesh. But the sounds of his mom screaming energizes his persistence and the instinctual flare of survival resurfaces. She thrashes in her restraints and Keith finally tugs on his own even as he’s wrestled into the cuffs. He lashes out.

“Get off,” he curses, nailing another guard in the throat with a high kick. “Stop hurting her!” 

He’s stunned as one of the soldiers strikes his face. Pain blisters across his cheekbone. Keith tastes blood in his mouth like copper and iron and salt. When the screaming stops and Larka sags forward in her restraints, Keith tries to reach out for her. But his right hand is held up and his fingers twist helplessly. 

When Haggar lifts the curse, she takes a step back, breathing hard as if she was the one tortured. 

“Mother,” Larka pants, “Please… the boy has nothing to do with this. I’m—”

Her words are cut off as the soldier, who backhanded Keith, strikes out at Larka with a curled fist. 

“You dare address High Priestess—”

“This is between me and my mother,” she says, casually interrupting him, as if she hadn’t just been subjected to volts of cold quintessence. Larka spits blood and a carnassial tooth out at Haggar’s feet. 

Keith can’t help but grin. _We’ll get out of this,_ he thinks.

The soldier is about to punch her again, but another druid grabs him, whispering harshly in his ear before escorting him out. 

“Kythel doesn’t need to be here for this,” Larka continues. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Please, Mama. Father needs to be—”

Haggar’s hand reaches out. For a tick, Keith thinks that the witch will gentle stroke Larka’s cheek, that she’ll remember everything, but then her long fingers wrap around her daughter’s throat. Haggar squeezes as dusky threads of quintessence arch out and strangle Larka like a wreath of serpents.

Beneath her cowl and behind clenched teeth, Haggar grits out slowly, “I am not your mother, you insufferable girl.” 

There’s a flash of sadness in his mom’s eyes, a strange look that he hasn’t seen on her face in the deca-phoeb he’s known her. Like a swirl of disappointment and resentfulness. He recognizes it. He felt the same way when his adopted father on Earth handed him the blade. He didn’t want a weapon. He wanted his mother. 

“I’ll send someone in here to interrogate you and your offspring,” Haggar says. In a wisp of black, the witch disappears. The others file out of the room slowly. 

“Kythel, are you alright?” Larka asks, turning to him once the doors slide shut. 

“I-I didn’t lose a tooth,” he says, smiling to show a few bloody teeth. 

Larka casts a look down to the floor, grimacing as she stares at her fallen tooth. “Yes, well that is unfortunate.”

“How are we going to get out of here?” Keith asks. “There’s no way we’re telling them where the Black Lion is.”

Larka shakes her head. “Don’t speak of that. They’re probably listening in on us.”

A sudden, sharp crack echoes in the room. Keith curls his lip in mild disgust as he watches his mother bend her thumb back by forcing it away against the gurney and slipping her right hand through the cuff. Larka rolls her eyes at his expression. 

“Please tell me you paid attention to Ulaz’s anatomy lessons,” she chuffs.

Keith looks away. “Of course I did. Hypermobility and flexibility and sheathes.”

Larka shakes her head as she reaches towards one of the medical tables at the side, wildly searching for something. She clutches a plasma generator knife between her index and middle finger while simultaneously flicking a slim switch on the side. Purple plasma bleeds from the hilt to form a double-edged blade. Larka slips the blade against the metal of the other cuff. She catches herself on her knees as she comes down, quickly searing through the metal of the ankle cuffs as well. 

“Are you okay?” Keith finally asks as she buckles her thumb back into place and then slices through Keith’s cuffs as well. 

Larka nods. “It’s easy to rile her up. All you have to do is aggravate her, get under her skin and prod at her, and she’ll most likely go off like a volcano. Lotor is better at it. He can get under anyone’s skin.”

“Has she always been like that?” Keith asks, massaging his wrists gently. 

Larka shrugs. “Your grandmother has been like that since I was child. I doubt she’s changed much in the last twenty deca-phoebs.”

“So, I guess that’s where _you_ get it?” Keith questions aloud. 

“What?” Larka says, searching the room for more weapons as she tosses the now-turned off plasma generator knife to Keith. “What are you talking about?”

“Recklessness,” Keith says, catching the blade. “It’s hereditary.” 

Larka turns, scrutinizing him for a tick. “That brute must have really given you a beating,” she laughs, “if you’re making that comparison.” 

Keith gives her another a bloody smile before repeating himself. “So, how are we getting out of here?”

“I don’t think we can,” Larka answers, finally finding another plasma blade. “Not now at least. Once they realize we’re free – and trust me, they probably already know – they’ll put this warship on lockdown. We’re not leaving anytime soon. We still have work to do.”

“We’re still going to kill Zarkon?” Keith asks. 

“No,” Larka says abruptly. “He’s not going to let us get that close. This is all a farce, Kythel. Leaving us in here. As if we’re not going to find our way out… Haggar will act as if it was all a part of her bigger plan to see how much we can be trusted. I don’t care about that. Keeping the Black Lion… keeping all the Lions away from them is the only way to stop them.”

“We should message headquarters then.”

“We will. Once we find a communication room, we’ll send something into the ether and hope they pick it up. I won’t send a message directly to them where the druids can trace the receiving location. That would be idiotic.”

“And then what? After that? They’re just going to let us wander around this ship without guards?” Keith asks, fiddling around in a cabinet for some healing salve. 

“They’ll expect us to fight back,” Larka says. “I think we should play along.” 

Keith raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“They’ll expect us to be recalcitrant. Or at least sabotage their equipment if we try to get out,” her voice lowers to a whisper. “They won’t expect it if we stay.”

“Stay and do what?” Keith finally finds the salve and is twisting open the jar. He smears some on his mom’s jaw where a bruise has blossomed around a deep cut. He can see the bone and she’ll probably need stitches, but this will do for now. 

“There’s one thing I want to find out. We’ll feed the information back to base,” Larka says, snatching the jar from his hand. She scoops up a large gelatinous amount and smears it across the dark bruise of his cheekbone. 

“And that is?”

“I want to know why Lotor is so suddenly interested in the affairs of the Empire.” 

The icy torture chamber is quiet. His mother continues to take care of the few contusions and bruises he received. If that’s what she wants to do, if this is the path she wants to take while they’re in captivity, Keith doesn’t question her logic. 

“ _Knowledge or Death_ ,” he recites as Larka continues to preen him like a mother lion does to her cub. Her hands still, gaze lifting to meet his eyes. A soft smile covers her face and she leans forward to press her forehead against his. She repeats their words.

“ _Knowledge or Death._ ”


	9. The Journey, Part One

The unfamiliar silver-blue communicator feels cold in his hand. Shiro thumbs over the slim button. He chews on his lower lip in a vain attempt to distract himself. He knows what he must do. He feels vulnerable in this moment. And he wants to distract himself with the memory of a sweet caress, calloused thin fingers smoothing back his hair. The smell of smoke and s'mores, summer nights sitting around a fire pit. Shiro’s eyes burn with exhaustion caused by his own tenacity, stretched thin like a gauzy film. 

He remembers Keith from before. Of tanned skin and summer heat, eyes so pretty they looked like violet nebulae and shining stars, and thick hair cut so choppily. He’s different now. Shiro has seen him on video feeds from the Marmora headquarters and the Castle’s security system. He looks even more agile than before, broader, _taller_ , with a foreign purple coloring. Shiro smiles to himself. But _he_ still looks like Keith. 

“You ready Shiro?” Pidge asks from the large doorway. 

Shiro licks his lips. “Yeah, just make sure everyone’s ready once I get the okay.” 

With tired eyes, Pidge gives him a tight nod before leaving the hanger. 

Despite his readiness, his hands still shake anxiously. He has to take a deep breath to maintain his wildly deteriorating stability. Shiro looks up at the Black Lion. 

“I know we should have gone out for a test drive,” Shiro starts, “but I’m counting on you, Black.”

It takes a moment, but he feels the Lion rumble, a deep hum coming from within his chest. The presence of the giant celestial beast calms him. It reveals a part of himself that he had always kept so deeply hidden. The part where he’d do anything for his family, a ruthlessness that hums just beneath the surface. He wonders if this is what Zarkon has felt since the creation of the Lions. Is that darkness, that connection to the sky and void, is it such an integral part of being the paladin of the Black Lion? He hopes that same cold, opaque cloud didn’t hover over Keith. 

Shiro thumbs over the slim button once more before firmly clicking it. A purple hologram emanates above the disk of the communicator. A pixelated screen displaying ERROR in familiar Galran glyphs. Shiro feels his heart beat beneath his chest, the rush of blood and the hazy thumping. 

It takes a full dobosh for the error screen to disappear and a pixelated screenshot of an empty seat appears. It flickers for five more ticks before the screen settles on a commander’s seat. His breath catches at the arrival of a new figure.

Shiro has never seen Lotor, except in shoddy video footage that the rebels had shown him. However, he can understand why the Galra Empire at least partly adores their prince. There are some expressive similarities between Lotor and his sister. However while Larka looks worn down by war and espionage, Lotor is the epitome of regal patrician beauty kept frozen in time. One lock of white hair falls into his eyes and there is a smirk gracing his features, his eyes dancing with laughter. 

“I did not expect to hear from you so soon, clone,” Lotor says, prickly. “If at all. I would have thought they had figured you out by now.”

“I covered my tracks well, Emperor,” Shiro says, almost laying it on too thick. “They did not expect anything after I voiced my concerns for Keith.”

Lotor rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, _Keith_. It’s a pity the young prince has my sister for a mother.” Shaking his head, his gaze flickers to something off screen. When he looks back at Shiro, his lips are curling up in a soft smile. “He has more potential than to just become an agent of the Blade of Marmora. When that rebellion falls, perhaps I will indulge myself and widen my ranks.”

Shiro swallows around the tension in his throat. 

“So,” Lotor pauses, “why have you hailed me?”

“I need an extraction,” Shiro answers, simply.

“Did you change your hair?” Lotor asks.

“W-what?” Shiro’s voice warbles for a tick. At this rate, Lotor could reach through the communicator and wrap his aristocratic fingers around Shiro’s heart, clenching and crushing it.

“I thought you would have kept the length,” Lotor explains. “When you last hailed me, the sides weren’t cut so short.” 

Shiro desperately searches his brain for a lie. “Pidge, the green paladin,” he clarifies, “shaved it for me.” 

Lotor flippantly waves his hand. “I don’t care. I have no real interest with the paladins,” he pauses. “But you say you need an extraction?”

Shiro nods, palm sweating around the communicator. 

“Feel free to leave at any time,” Lotor smiles. “If we’re done here—”

“Security is tight around here,” Shiro says, rushing his words out before Lotor can sign off. “I’ll need safe passage back to the druids.”

It’s a shaky ploy, gambling with the fact that the clone is owned by Haggar. The witch would be upset if Lotor didn’t return her pet, even after the prince took him without asking. 

For a second, Shiro can see Lotor’s upper lip curl into a snarl. The Galran hybrid smooths out his features quickly, painting another lackadaisical smile on his face. 

“Bold move, clone,” Lotor says. “But you are correct. Even if you did manage to get out from there on your own, you have no place by my side. I’ll return you to Haggar for a fee.”

“I have crucial information about the Blade of Marmora,” Shiro lies. “Information pertaining to Princess Larka and her son, and…” 

“And?” Lotor asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“What they’re planning with Princess Allura,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself of his own words. 

Lotor leans back in his seat, threading his fingers together. The prince almost looks like his father, albeit a less ancient and wilier version of the man. “Here I send you to antagonize the paladins, to test them, and instead you come to me with even more invaluable research. Perhaps I should keep you rather than handing you over to the witch.” Lotor sighs loudly, as if their conversation has gone on long enough. “Kythel is aboard the Emperor’s dreadnought. I doubt he’ll last long. It’s a pity… I would have liked him in my ranks.”

Shiro clenches his jaw. He knows, deep down inside, that Lotor is testing him. Searching for an ulterior motive. Shiro won’t give him one. 

“If you extract me from this ship, I can hand over all the information I’ve gathered,” Shiro swallows, his hand growing clammy. “Everything about Larka’s science experiments, the Blades’ plans on other planets, Allura’s quest to rebuild Altea.”

There’s a twitch along Lotor’s jaw. Shiro feels the warmth of success curl in his chest. Lotor may have baited him with his weakness, but Shiro succeeded in hooking _him_ with whatever intel he needed. 

“Science experiments?” Lotor mulls over the words as if tasting their richness. He looks off screen again for a just a moment, a mere flicker in his gaze. “Alright, I’ll send some coordinates. You must arrive at them in three vargas. I’ll take you anywhere… after you tell me everything I want to know.”

Shiro doesn’t let out a sigh of relief, not yet.

“Thank you, sir.”

Lotor almost nods. But just as Shiro is about to sign off and await the coordinates in an encrypted message, Lotor’s smirk widens. 

“And, clone,” he calls out, “I’m no longer Emperor Pro Tem. I’m just Prince Lotor again.”

Shiro grits his teeth. “Thank you, _Prince Lotor_.”

Once the words leave his mouth, Lotor ends the call. It is only after Shiro triple-checks that the communicator is turned off that he breathes a long sigh. His stomach still coils in knots, still burns with acid and sourness. But it’s done. The first phase of the plan is complete.

~~

Hunk squirms in his seat, staring hesitantly at the screen before him. It’s a varga before nightfall on the Balmera and he hopes that Shay’s shift at the refugee camp is over. Tabbing through his contact list, Hunk selects the familiar frequency number and waits for his call to hit the relay near the Balmera.

It takes a few ticks, but Shay’s face finally appears haloed in the blue light of the hologram. Her soft voice bleeds through the audio and it makes Hunk’s chest hum in contentment. He finds himself cooking less and less when he is anxious or enraged, instead choosing to call Shay and relax to the musical hum of her voice. 

“Hunk!” she says, surprised. “I was not accepting to hear from you for another phoeb.” Her eyes are a hazy yellow and her gray cheeks flush. 

He wants to buy her new earrings, something he can give her during his next trip to the Balmera. But the more her thinks about it, the more he wants to make them with his own hands. Something that defines who he is and what he wants to give her. He feels his own cheeks flush with embarrassment, his face growing hot. Shay isn’t like any human girl he’s ever met. Maybe it’s not love right now, not with them living in the backdrop of a war just about to boil over, but he wants to make sure she lives another day. Striking the Galra, cutting off their supply to major worlds… this will help. It will help keep Shay and her family safe and all the refugees they’ve taken in. But for now, in this moment, he’s content to stare at her like a lovesick teenager. 

It must take him too long to gather his thoughts, because concern brushes across Shay’s face.

“What is wrong, Hunk? Are you well?” she asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” he answers, brushing off the questions. “I’m just going on a mission and I wanted to see you before I did.”

Shay smiles brightly, but there’s still a hesitant glance in her yellow eyes. “Everything will go well, yes?”

Hunk’s hands clench against the arms of his pilot seat. He hopes things will go well, but he doesn’t know for sure. Shiro is tricking Lotor and who knows if the prince will fall for it. If not, he’ll be ahead of them… again. He’ll know everything and then this plan will fall apart. It was too much of a risk for Shiro to pretend, but it’s too late for a change of plan now. Unless they just follow what the Blades will do. And he’s not even sure that plan will work either. 

“I’m just worried, you know?” he admits, instead of lying his way through their conversation. He needs to lean on her, for her to take some of this weight he carries on his shoulders. His teammates are already weary and although he trusts them with his life and he’d do anything to protect them, Shay has slowly become his anchor. When he feels a swell of homesickness, he turns to her. When he doesn’t agree with his team’s agenda, he looks to her for solace. “I don’t want to say anything just in case this relay gets hacked, but I’m just worried you know. I want to fight with one group, but to fight with one group leaves everyone else exposed. And if one group fails, then does the other group fail? What if the group I’m in fails? What if we don’t get Keith back? What if the Galra Empire—”

“Hunk,” Shay’s soft voice crackles through the speakers, interrupting him. “I have faith that you will do well. I believe in what Voltron is doing. You must have faith in yourself. You are strong. You are as sturdy as the Balmera itself.”

Hunk feels the Yellow Lion purr deeply in affirmation. He takes a deep breath, basking in the sounds of Shay’s voice and Yellow’s purring. 

“I know you cannot tell me more,” Shay admits, “but I believe you will be fine.”

“But Pidge… the last battle she was in… she was so tired, Shay. I never saw her so exhausted. I think…” he swallows around his words. “I think this war against the Empire—”

“We all knew that the war against the Galra Empire would be taxing,” Shay says, “but your team is strong when you rely on each other. You and the others must lift her up, protect each other like you protect other worlds. Voltron will destroy whatever is left of the Empire. I believe in you.”

Her words settle his stomach, but he’d rather be there; smelling the earthiness of her hands. Instead he feels Yellow hum, realizing Shiro is climbing into Black for the first time in phoebs. 

“You must go?” Shay asks, reading his facial expression so well.

He nods, solemnly.

The inquisitive smile doesn’t leave her face. “Well, so must I. Grandmother has made broiled, salted grubs tonight.” 

He’s about to say that sounds amazing, but even Yellow shivers in mild disgust. 

“But I do miss your cooking, Hunk,” Shay adds cheekily.

Hunk flushes, biting his lower lip to not smile. Shay’s laughter is like the ringing of bells. 

They sign off after brief goodbyes. His afterglow only burns away when Lance’s voice comes through the communication link. 

“We’ve got the coordinates, buddy,” he says. “We’re live in three vargas.”

Time to get to work.

~~

Zarkon’s training regimen is, surprisingly, not as brutal as the Blade of Marmora’s trials. He doesn’t know if his tutors have been told to go easy on him or if they don’t expect much out of him, but he’s also giving them the bare minimum. He doesn’t want Zarkon or any others aboard the dreadnought knowing his full capabilities. It’s enough that Zarkon has shoved him into a full course load of schooling or that he trains for six vargas straight before getting fed. He’s sure that is punishment for sabotaging a communication deck quintants ago alongside his mother. The Emperor tries to keep him on a shorter leash, but every evening his mother clips it and frees him. And the cycle begins anew.

Some part of him feels like Zarkon’s humoring them. Giving them the appearance of freedom, but they’re actually interacting in a controlled environment. When he brings it up to Larka, she claims she doesn’t doubt it. But she’s determined to find the loophole and she reiterates that she feels it has something to do with Lotor. Zarkon may not care about what his children do, but there was a reason he called Lotor back in the first place. There was a reason Haggar called Lotor back to Central Command in the wake of Zarkon’s coma. Why not select a high-ranking commander while Zarkon recuperated? Or why not Haggar take over in the interim? 

Why choose the prince in exile? And why did he continue to antagonize the paladins? Why did he even attempt to flatter his father at every turn?

Keith shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the questions. He scans open the door to the apartments he shares with his mother. Zarkon relocated them closer to his own floor, probably to keep an eye on his daughter and grandson. 

“Mom?” he calls out as the door shuts behind him. The rooms are sparse: a utilitarian room used for cooking and recess time, a shared bathroom, and two bedrooms on either side. He’s thankful they have their own space. He hates eating in the mess hall with all the other soldiers and students. All they do is stare, but he can hear them talk about him. He’s not stupid. Shrugging the alienated feeling he’s had since he was child, Keith calls out again, “Mom?”

Anxiety clenches around his heart for a moment, but it recedes quickly. She’s probably skulking around the ship. He remembers from breakfast this morning that she was going to search Lotor’s own private suite. Was she still there? All quintant? Keith massages his temple, as a tension headache starts to manifest. He feels his mother’s obsession with Lotor slowly bleeding on to him. 

Keith drops his bag on the couch, before turning back around and heading out. He’s quiet as he rushes down the empty corridor. Lotor’s abandoned quarters are around the corner. They’ve searched it before and found nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed to have only moved a few belongings from his quarters on Central Command to the dreadnought: some clothing, a few toiletries, and an old tablet. 

He finds his mother there, sitting on Lotor’s rarely used bed and thumbing at the chipped edge of the tablet. 

“Still haven’t found a charger?” Keith asks from the open doorway. 

Larka chews on her lower lip, shaking her head. “It’s an old model. I don’t even know if they manufacture them anymore.”

“When we get back to headquarters,” he starts, “I’m sure Pidge and Hunk can rig something up. They made the gaming console work.”

Larka smiles. 

“Listen,” Keith says. “I know you’re really bent on finding out what Lotor’s up to, but we won’t find out much until we face him.”

“You think we should chase after him?” she asks, finally lifting her gaze from the tablet to her son. 

“It’s what Kolivan would order,” he reminds her. They’ve had the discussion every time before they went to sleep. To shift their focus from Zarkon to Lotor would be a vital change. It was still a risk, even now realizing that Lotor had no ambitions to rule his father’s empire. He had his own goals and desires. Not meeting Zarkon’s expectations was probably the least of his worries. It was becoming more apparent to Keith that they may have judged him all wrong. It didn’t mean he was any less of a threat.

~~

Lotor watches with watery vision as Voltron swipes through a couple hundred cruisers with one hit. The shoulder cannon reappears and Lotor’s eyes widen for only a moment. The abandoned mining outpost he had selected, to extract the clone on, is a boiling cauldron of rock and plasma fire. He hadn’t thought the clone would have been able to pilot the Black Lion. Was its connection to the original Shiro so strong that—? No. That’s not how cloning works.

Lotor narrows his eyes.

“The clone betrayed us,” Ezor comments, high-pitched and frantic. 

Acxa rolls her eyes at the obvious. 

“Prince Lotor, what are your orders?” she asks. 

The royal warship jolts to the left as the shoulder cannon restarts its attack on the main command ship. 

“Pull back,” Lotor says. “We didn’t pick this battle. We have no reason to stay.”

“But the clone…?”

“Zethrid, Narti,” he says, ignoring Ezor’s questions, “we need new coordinates.”

A beeping takes over the main video display.

“We’re being hailed,” Acxa announces. “Do you think it’s the paladins?”

Kova jumps off Narti’s shoulder. He had been clinging to it during the shakes that vibrated against the hull of the ship. He pads across the console before softly headbutting one of the controls by Acxa’s hand.

Lotor grits his teeth. That cat is too smart for its own good. 

The screen pixelates before the image of a masked druid appears. 

“Prince Lotor,” the druid says, smoothly, “High Priestess Haggar humbly requests that you return to the imperial warship.”

Zethrid engages the ship’s protective force field just as Voltron shoots several more missiles aimed for the bow. Lotor balls his hands into fists. 

The druid looks rigid before cocking her head to the side. “Is everything alright, Your Imperial Highness?”

Lotor paints a slight smile on his face, a simple lift of his lips. Acxa finishes typing in the current coordinates for the dreadnought. “Of course,” he says. “We just had a minor altercation with Voltron. Nothing serious.”

He wonders if the druid is laughing beneath that pointed mask. Hot white rage fills his chest at the thought.

“Voltron?” the druid asks, voice wavering. For a tick, the druid wanders off screen. She returns a few seconds later just as Acxa is preparing the boost thrusters for hyper-drive. “Prince Lotor, you are to return to the imperial warship posthaste. We’ve just received word that the colony of Gal is under attack.” 

His anger dissipates, just as a bizarre and daunting realization starts unraveling in his belly. _The clone… the clone set him up._ Did the clone orchestrate this? Why would he request to be extracted now of all times? Pulling Lotor away from the main fleet or from his own base…

“Prince Lotor, should we enter hyper-drive?” Acxa asks for confirmation. 

“Get us out of here.”


	10. The Journey, Part Two

Purple-tinged blood sluices down Kolivan’s blade as he rams it to the hilt inside an imperial soldier. Many of them have been left behind during the mass exodus, as other warships scrambled to evacuate personnel. 

“I don’t want any Galra soldiers left on this planet,” he orders a few Blades by his side. 

“Yes, sir,” they say, before dispatching to the citadel.

“Hazar was supposed to open the gate to the archival temple doboshes ago,” Ulaz says from behind a tightly clenched jaw. “How long should we wait?”

“Until Dorma gives the affirmative,” Kolivan says, pulling his blade from the dead soldier. “If there are any druids left on Gal, they are in there.”

Kolivan finds himself plastered against the wall under an overhang of the abandoned marketplace. Smoke creates a cloudy gossamer around most of the empty stalls. The front glass windows of the few boutiques have been shattered by bullets and plasma weaponry. He watches with grim eyes as Antok slices his tail across an incoming soldier, who was either abandoned or the last man of his troop. Kolivan licks his lips beneath his mask. This isn’t unnecessary bloodshed. These soldiers made their choice when they stood by Zarkon’s side. Anyone of them could have done what the Blade of Marmora did, abandoning the ideology behind _Vrepit sa_ and fighting against what destroyed their homeworld. How many of his own men did he lose in this fight? Kolivan is drained of sympathy for the Empire and its soldiers. 

Shaking his head free of those curdling thoughts, Kolivan turns to Ulaz. 

“Find Thace,” he says. “He should be at the communication sector within the air force academy’s base. Tell him there’s a change of plans. I want you both to lead any other civilians out of the city. Get them to safety.”

“What about the civilians in the temple?” Ulaz asks, voice sounding worried beneath his own mask. 

“I’ll have Regris’ team lead them out of the city, while he gathers information from the archives,” Kolivan adds. 

Ulaz gives him a brief nod before disappearing down a side alley that leads out of the marketplace. 

It feels different being back on Gal. He’s no longer a citizen of this place, forced to leave after Kythel was born. But it feels good to have his feet planted on solid ground again, someplace familiar despite the circumstances. Gal is a ruddy colored planet, that previously served as an outpost by the Polluxi before Emperor Zarkon reclaimed it. But despite its reddish appearance that is so reminiscent of Daibazaal, Gal is still awash with dark oceans, glittering rivers, and fertile soil. It isn't the most mesmerizing planet, not like Altea or Nalquod, but it is rich and hardy like its displaced people. 

The sound of plasma fire blares loudly in his ears, and then the tell-tale sound of Lance’s giddy voice threads through his communication link. 

“Kolivan? I heard you’re in need of assistance. How can Voltron help?”

Kolivan allows his lips to lift beneath his mask. Antok’s tail swishes wildly in anticipation. 

“Please tell us you incapacitated Lotor’s ship,” Antok comments, almost too loudly that Kolivan must hush him just in case they attract unwanted attention. 

“Ehhh…” Lance struggles to divulge what happened. It unsettles Kolivan’s nerves. 

“We’ll tell you what happened afterwards,” Shiro pipes up. “It looks like you’re facing some Galra soldiers at the air base. I’ll have Coran lay down some cover fire.”

Kolivan hopes Ulaz and Thace can get the people out from whatever battlefield they’re facing.

“Handle any of the cruisers escaping,” Kolivan says. “We’re tackling the archival temple now.”

Raiding the temple alongside Antok proves easy enough. They fall into their own familiar tempo the moment Dorma reports back that Hazar has opened the main gates to the science facility. There is only one druid – a corrupted old Altean – left within, guarding a Galran civilian. They are surrounded by a dozen dead citizens who had been caught in the crossfire of whatever had happened in this temple moments before. The sight of the corrupted Altean being brought down by Antok’s blade leaves an unsatisfing taste in his mouth as blood streaks the floor. How many Alteans does the Empire have? Is Haggar’s order controlled by a faction of Alteans who sided with Zarkon? 

“What are you doing?” asks the Galran, a spiteful expression rising on his slender face. His ears are drooping down past his chin and there’s blood on his fingers.

“Regris,” Kolivan says, turning away from the civilian to speak into the comm link. “There’s only one survivor. We’ll escort him—”

Kolivan’s words are cut off at the sound of Antok’s watery gurgling. He whips around, spotting the Galran coiling a smoky blaze of quintessence around Antok’s throat. He’s a druid in the civilian clothing of cloth and leather. The heady magic percolates through the chamber, reaching out towards Kolivan. He almost feels that same smoky blaze wrap around his own throat. He shakes his head free. This part is only an illusion, but it isn’t for Antok. The druid chokes the tailed Blade so harshly that his mask disables. Kolivan grips the hilt of his weapon, about to rush at the unmasked druid only to stumble back as a poleaxe hurtles through the air to his left. The great blade lodges itself in the druid’s chest. With the weapon stuck within his body, the druid ropes his magic back. He barely makes a strangled groan as he stumbles to the cold floor, his eyes dimming beneath the shimmering light of the temple. 

Kolivan recognizes the weapon. The shaft is black with the familiar Marmora insignia glowing a soft purple down the side. The part of the blade not lodged in the druid’s chest is glossy and gleaming. Kolivan chuffs in irritation. 

“I should have warned you,” Hazar’s deep voice echoes in the main chamber of the temple. “Some of the druids dress up as civilians to monitor the others. They’ve been doing it since Zarkon was in a coma.” 

Antok, still coughing from the druid’s attack, rubs his hand over his bruising neck. “You didn’t think to say something sooner,” he rasps. 

“I thought you’d figure it out sooner or later,” Hazar laughs, striding over to help Antok’s slumped over form and giving him a few hearty slaps on the back. 

“Sorry,” Dorma says from the archway. Kolivan gives her a glance and sees that Regris and his team are by her side. He motions them to sweep the rest of the temple before approaching the technology. “We should have gotten in here sooner. But the only way to open the gate was from the control base.”

The control base was one of the central administration buildings on Gal. Larka had helped build the temples. Her schematics and protocol documents showed that in the event of insurrection, the only way to get in or out of the temples was to disable the controls from one of the administration buildings. Kolivan deactivates his mask, looking down on the ground at the few other bodies. 

“What happened to the civilians here?” Kolivan asks. 

“Who knows,” Hazar answers. “Things have been strange here for the past few phoebs. Not a lot of people are just willing to fall into line with everything the military and druids say. It reflects poorly on the morale of the government, so druids have been executing civilians. But I’ve been able to gather the few that will join the Blade of Marmora.” Hazar pauses to run a large lavender hand through his curly white hair. “Kolivan, we can’t abandon the citizens.”

“Voltron will help oversee the protection of other rebels,” the Marmora leader explains. He feels drained by all the violence. “We’re using the planet to bring together the coalition under one banner. The blades, the rebels, the entire coalition can use this place.”

“And if the Empire tries to retake it?” Dorma asks, a question he often finds that she repeats. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Kolivan answers, “but for now, let the people meet Voltron.”

~~

Keith is in mid-bite of his lunch, metal spork poised by his parted lips, when he hears the ruckus coming from the corridor. He immediately turns to his mother, who sits on the couch trying to hack into the group of portable computers sitting in front of her. He doesn’t know how long she’s been attempting to decrypt the protected military data, but she hasn’t stopped trying since before breakfast.

“What the hell is going on?” Keith asks, hearing the sound of heavy boots echoing outside their apartments. 

Larka is already standing, hand clutching the hilt of the plasma generator knife. He grabs his own as she heads to the door. Swiping it open, she peers out into the hallway. Whoever was making all the noise is gone now. Just as she’s about to turn around and close the door, he sees the glare of a slim tablet on the ground in front of the doorway. 

“Wait,” he says, brushing past her to pick up the object. “Did someone drop this?”

“I doubt it,” Larka says, matter-of-factly. “The screen isn’t cracked.”

“You think someone left it for us?” he asks aloud. With shaky hands, Keith tabs the button on the side and the screen blinks on. A white tablet of pixelated paper decorates the screen with a frail script of Galran numbers and letters, as if someone had written on it with a stylus. “What’s L363?”

Keith looks over at Larka to see her brows furrowed. She’s anxiously chewing on her lower lip.

“It’s a laboratory level aboard the dreadnought,” she explains. “Laboratory three, chamber sixty-three.” 

“Someone wants us to go there?” Keith asks, excitement threading in his voice. Vargas and quintants spent scraping by on vague information and the desire to chase after Lotor has left him antsy. Not to mention the annoyance of mandatory classes, assignments, and training sessions. He could do without all three right now. He certainly didn’t want to be trained by some Imperial. It only reaffirms how badly he wants to join the Blades once they get home. 

“We don’t know who left this, if they are enemy or foe,” she comments idly

“But there’s a possibility that there are Blades aboard the ship,” Keith says. “What if they’re trying to show us something?”

“They would have made contact by now,” Larka counters. 

Keith narrows his eyes, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t want to have an argument, least of all with his mother, but… “What are you afraid of?”

Larka chuffs, “Nothing good comes from those laboratories.” She pauses, before relenting. “But this is the first lead we’ve got… no matter how strange the circumstances.” 

Keith smiles as she locks the door behind them and they head to the nearest elevator shaft that will take them to the science sector aboard the dreadnought. In order to get there, they need to enter a common level, one frequently trafficked by those aboard the ship. But upon their arrival, Keith immediately senses something is wrong. 

The common level is in chaos as several commanders head to the bridge and others attend to emergency protocols elsewhere. There are even a cluster of druids gathering other personnel, speaking in secretive voices, robes swishing across the floor as they leave. 

For the second time, Keith asks, “What the hell is going on?” 

“I have no idea,” Larka hums, bewildered by the amount of activity.

In the short time they’ve been on the dreadnought, it had never been so hive-like before. And on any other vessel of the Empire, it was always eerily quiet besides the few patrols that traveled the empty corridors. Commanders, lieutenants, and low-level officers always remained at their stations. But here… now… even the small floating drones seem to be buzzing around like bees, sending frenzied notifications across the ship. It’s a flurry of excitement and Keith isn’t sure he likes it. 

“No one has even noticed us,” Keith mutters under his breath. 

“Princess Larka, Prince Kythel,” says a low, rough voice behind them. Keith rolls his eyes, feeling like he’s spoken too soon. 

Coming from the direction of the lifts, Keith spots a commander who reminds him of Haxus with his glossy fur and sleek features. The commander is flanked by a reptilian-looking soldier who looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. 

Keith notices his mother clenches her fists and takes a protective position to stand in front of him. He skirts around her to really take in the man as he approaches. He’s tall, almost too tall; with spindly fingers, broad shoulders, and an unsettling smirk. Keith rolls his eyes.

“You and your son should run back to the royal apartments,” the commander says. 

“What’s going on here, Commander…?” Larka asks, scrutinizing him.

“Throk,” he supplies. “I worked alongside your traitor husband.” 

If there is one positive thing to attending a Galran academy, it is that Keith can overhear all the gossip that occurs throughout the ship _and_ the empire. Commander Throk’s defeat at the hands of Lotor is widely discussed among the students’ social circles that surround him during group tutoring sessions.

“Didn’t Lotor spare you in the arena after finding out you were about to launch a treasonous coup,” Keith taunts. 

The smirk on Throk’s face falls and his spindly hands curl into fists. Throk’s companion grips the commander’s upper arm. 

“Throk, we’re need on the bridge,” the man says, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. 

“ _Half-breeds,_ ” Throk mutters, harshly, under his breath as he passes by them. His friend tosses them an apologetic glance as they walk away. 

Larka lets out a breath she had been holding in. “Where the quiznak did you hear that?” 

“History class,” Keith answers. “Apparently, he’s a laughing stock among his colleagues and their families. I’m surprised Zarkon hasn’t taken his head.”

“We need to get off this ship before any more of this political nonsense rubs off on you,” Larka murmurs. 

Keith stifles a laugh and they head back to their strange route to L363. It takes them nearly thirty doboshes to find the laboratory level and most of it was spent trying to bypass security clearance. They had to take a ridiculous, roundabout way through the mess hall kitchens and Larka had to time her disablement of the robotic chefs perfectly, lest she set off an alarm. 

When they finally arrive to the science sector and amble down towards L363, the first thing Keith notices is the lack of guards. There are no sentries and no druids. 

“Do you think whatever is going on at the bridge has everyone’s attention elsewhere?” Keith asks aloud.

“It would explain the group of druids who should be here and aren’t,” Larka comments. “Whoever left that tablet knew that the druids would be occupied elsewhere.”

Keith’s mind races as his mother busies herself with hacking into the control panel. 

“Or maybe whoever left that tablet is a druid,” he counters. 

Larka’s fingers still for a moment, grimacing at his words. She knows more about the druids than anyone, Keith realizes. Could one of the Blades have infiltrated the druids’ order? A latch clicks beneath the control panel’s screen as the wiring sets off, frying the system. Keith helps his mother slide open the door manually, but it is she who steps in first. He stumbles into her after closing the door behind them. He hears her disgusted gasp and she takes a step back towards him. 

“Kythel…” her soft voice trails off, almost brokenly and then he sees it. His heavy heart plummets into his stomach. His gut twists inside of him, squirming like snakes, and he wants to vomit. He wants to cry.

They are piled atop each other, in rows and rows of shelving; frozen in sleep pods are clones of Takashi Shirogane.


	11. Little Lion Man

In the dull corners of his vision, the pale sub-lights are washed out. His eyes narrow at the light, squinting up as if blinded by the migraine pulsating and aching between his eyes. His torso feels tight, tighter than moments ago when he felt his gut clench and his heart beat like a rabbit’s foot. The dryness in his throat feels like a knife has wedged itself inside, only to twist and pry apart his body. Keith chokes on another awkward gasp as he presses his clammy hands, drenched in cold sweat, against his knees. He leans forward as bile crawls up his throat, breathing sharply through his nose as if that will soothe him. A warm hand presses against his forehead, threading through the thick locks of hair. The wispy hairs slick to his forehead as sweat beads at his hairline. 

Frantically and flailing, he pulls away from the caress only to fall back into the embrace. Keith leans sideways on the ground as he vomits up the few meager bites of his breakfast. His eyes burn at the acrid taste and he swipes the back of his hand against his lips. 

“They’ve cloned him,” he whimpers, scrubbing his eyes with his other hand. He hates crying. He’s cried about his absent mother during his childhood. He had suppressed those feelings, buried them under stoicism and bravado. And now here he is, deca-phoebs later, crying in her arms because the Shiro he had recently been reunited with may not have been the one he had trusted since his years at the Garrison. 

_They’ve cloned him,_ Keith thinks. A fresh bout of dull throbbing erupts across his forehead. Was the Shiro that reappeared on Earth with a missing arm the same Shiro he kissed before the Kerberos mission? At what point had he been switched with one of these impostors? At what point had this clone positioned himself within the family they created aboard the Castle of Lions? A sourness coils itself around his heart and it suspiciously feels like guilt. Was the Shiro with them, right this very moment, an impostor? 

He needs to get up. He needs to move. He knows this. Yet his mother’s arms are the only comfort he feels. She holds him close and he curls up like a struggling cub, nosing around for some warmth. _Patience yields focus._ He recites his mantra in his head, the only thing tethering him to his past with Shiro. Was that why he had been so adamant on having Keith lead Voltron? Did he know deep down that he was a clone or that they existed and the best way to protect Voltron was to leave at some point? 

“Mom, they’ve cloned him,” he whispers.

Larka makes a familiar comforting chuff. He sinks deeper into her arms. 

“What if—”

“Son, we have to leave,” she murmurs against his hairline. “We can’t stay here. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, but someone wanted us to see this. We… we have no idea if this is a setup.”

Keith’s ears ring with the memory of Thace telling him how in his lapse of judgement, he had left the encrypted chip at a publicly used console. His father had almost failed in his nineteen yearlong mission because the druids had found it. Those dark magicians tended to setup their quarry in a stressful environment, lulling them into an over confident stupor before striking. Keith licks bitter saliva from his lips as he struggles to sit up. Larka helps him to his feet, delicately missing the puddle of sick on the floor with the heel of her boot. 

His stomach lurches again and he turns his head away. He would look anywhere else as long as he doesn’t have to face the rows and rows of his boyfriend. Those eerie doll-like figurines, placed away for some druid to play with at their leisure. 

“W-why? Why would they do this? Did Haggar sign off on this?” 

Larka is quiet behind him. Even as he spots a control room off to the side. A cold rush of air tickles down his spine. Taking a deep breath, he walks towards the side room. The doors slide open automatically and he’s greeted by the stifling heat of multiple computers and consoles. A few are monitoring the status of the clones. A steady beeping from heart rate and blood pressure monitors echoes in his ears, like a steady knocking, over and over again, mocking him. _None of these are the real Shiro._

Keith presses his hand against one of the screen consoles, activating the Galra tech. A three-dimensional screen opens to display a random clone’s stats: its shelving number, weight, height, heart rate, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure. This particular clone has been in stasis for eleven phoebs, approximately the same amount of time that Shiro had been missing. 

The Galran hybrid’s hands ache with the desire to smash the glass and metal sleep pods. He wants to hit an eject button and hope that these clones will disappear into the void. Instead, he thumbs through a command panel. 

He hears his mother walk into the stifling room.

“Son, what are you doing?”

He ignores her question, obsessed with trying to translate the Galran script. The glyphs were easy to read once Ulaz had taught him the alphabet properly, instead of depending on technology devices. But some of the language is in a dead Altean dialect. He sometimes heard Allura and Coran use it when they think no one is nearby, murmuring around the dining table or at the bridge’s primary piloting dais. 

“Mom,” he calls out, struck with a sudden thought. “Do you know Old Altean?” 

Larka sidles up to him, peering over his shoulder. He’s grown these past few phoebs, a late growth spurt for a twenty deca-phoeb old Galran kit. Nevertheless, his mother peeks over his shoulder, staring down at the screens with a worrying glance. 

“Old Altean? I studied it at the academy when I was young. It was a mandatory class with so many Altean ambassadors and bureaucrats living on Daibazaal,” she says faintly, lost in a memory from so long ago. “I can read it, but I’m not fluent in speaking it.” 

She’s quiet for a moment as she reads through the script and glyphs. An arched eyebrow lifts as she hums in confusion. “Most of this is in Old Altean. Why are the druids using it for their coding?”

Could _all_ of the druids be of Altean descent? Impossible. Even with the fact that many of them wore masks, Zarkon wouldn’t entrust his scientific discoveries in the hands of Alteans. Keith dampens that thought down. 

“How do I purge these things?” he asks stoically.

“What?” Larka sputters. 

“How do I destroy these _clones_? They aren’t Shiro,” he says. “He wouldn’t want these existing.”

“Kythel,” she whispers before taking a deep breath. He knows he’s pushing her too much, that she’s starting to doubt the reason why they’re here. Starting to think that maybe he’s a bit too overzealous and that age has made her more reasonable. She gently pushes him to the side as she types a series of commands into the console and then tabs through a purging sequence. 

Keith watches through the paneled glass as a white smoke fills the sleep pods, steaming high like deadly miasma. He hears the monitors beeping harshly, until they flatline. Tightening his hands into fists, Keith looks on with watery eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Larka presses a hand against his shoulder. 

“We need to get back to the apartments,” she states, her fingers clenching against the gray and purple uniformed armor that Zarkon’s servants had given him to wear. 

Keith follows his mother back silently. She rewires the control panel at the entrance to lock L363 once more. They take the long way back through the kitchens, following the path they had already carved open. The common level is still buzzing with people, soldiers rushing back and forth and druids disappearing through alcoves and heavy doorways. Keith wants to make a detour to the bridge, to catch a glimpse of what’s going on there. 

With one look at his mother, he knows the answer will be no. Her brows had been furrowed with worry the entire length of their little adventure. Keith wonders if Larka is disgusted by her mother’s experiments or if she’s grown accustomed to pristine cloning facilities. 

_Nothing good comes from those laboratories,_ she had said just before they left. Did she know what to expect? She had no qualms about destroying the Shiro clones. Had she done this before? 

It’s when they are in the false safety of the apartments that he finally breaks the silence. 

“Did you always think that the Shiro at Marmora headquarters… wasn’t actually him?” The words feel stagnant and dry in his mouth. Larka sits back down with a sigh, the mysterious tablet held tight in her grip.

“I didn’t think he was a clone if that’s what you’re asking,” she says, shakily. “I thought he was brainwashed at best.”

Keith opens his mouth to say something, but his mother interrupts. 

“I only hope that the others have figured it out by now,” she mutters softly. “And that perhaps, they’ve found your mate.”

He swallows around the tightness in his voice. “When he returned to Earth, he was missing an arm. Do you think that’s when they began cloning him?”

Larka runs a shaky hand through her thick hair and stares at the hibernating computers in front of her. 

“When Ulaz had to report to the Record after my troops rescued you all from Thaldycon, he told us that he hadn’t been there when Shiro had undergone surgery. Ulaz was there for his prosthetic fitting and that’s when he had installed coordinates to our base. That was a breach of protocol, but you ended up not having a use for it. I ordered Ulaz to stay with Team Voltron, even though Kolivan wasn’t happy with my decision. Perhaps, they started cloning him once they got his arm, but we have no evidence of that,” she explains. She sounds burdened and exhausted. “We need to get off this ship. Kythel, we need to leave. There’s nothing left we can do here. They won’t let us get close enough to assassinate Zarkon. Haggar has druids watching him every moment. It will be impossible. She has druids everywhere, watching us, locking me out of the servers, scrubbing data before I have time to hack in. They are well aware of what I’m doing and they’re playing games with me as I do it.” She pauses. “I’ll get you on an escape pod and when you are far enough away from the dreadnought, you can use a distress beacon code to get in contact with your father.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “What about you? You have to come with me.” 

Her silence weighs heavily in the air. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffs. “You would try to assassinate him by yourself? I’m right here! We can do this together!”

“Lower your voice,” Larka mutters. “You haven’t been trained properly for something like this.”

“I didn’t leave Dad behind and I barely knew him at the time,” Keith counters. “You think I’d let you just stay here by yourself?”

“This isn’t a discussion or an argument,” Larka says. “I’m putting you on an escape pod—”

“And that will get me to safety?” he mocks. “Yeah, that went well last time! You guys tried to hide me on Earth and I still found my way back, I still have to fight in this war! Keeping me safe didn’t help then and it won’t now!”

A pained expression crosses over Larka’s face. Though Keith instantly regrets wounding her with his sharp words, he’s still angry and frustrated. 

“Sooner or later, the druids are going to discover that we just sabotaged one of their greatest weapons,” Larka says. “They cloned a paladin of Voltron and used it to infiltrate your ranks. Who knows what else they were going to use them for. Who knows if they’re already on Earth or dispatched to countless other planets, pretending to be a paladin on a solo mission. Any scenario could be happening where a cloned Shiro could be doing more damage that you all don’t know about. If you get out of here, you can at least warn the others if that clone is still at the base.”

“We could send another coded message,” Keith says, desperately. 

“Kythel, they haven’t shown any movement that they’ve received the other message. Something strange is happening on this ship and we’re not privy to that information. You need to leave.”

“Maybe everyone is acting strange because of Voltron,” Keith counters angrily.

Sweat dots his forehead. Larka is trying to convince him to leave and he doesn’t want to. He’s lost his mother and his father before. He’s lost his adopted father. He feels like he’s lost his boyfriend, now. He’s tired of losing people. He’ll cling to this woman even as she tries to shake him off. 

Balling his hands into fists, Keith grits his teeth and heads to his room. Pushing people away has always been something he did subconsciously, but now all he wants to do is pull them closer. He misses Coran and Allura. Pidge and Hunk and Lance. The Blades. He misses the Castleship and the Blade of Marmora’s headquarters. He misses Thace’s hugs and Kolivan’s guiding hand. He misses home. He wants to go home. And he wants his mother to come with him. 

He gets a notification on his tablet that his philosophy class has been canceled for the next few quintants, and uses the free time to fidget on his bed. For lunch, he comes out to see his mother preparing food. He helps her by chopping up a few raw vegetables and scooping a creamy dip into a glass dish while she thinly slices seasoned meat and grills it. They eat with only the sound of a news frequency droning through the radio on the table. It’s clearly censored for civilians as there isn’t any talk about Emperor Zarkon’s warship or Voltron causing the military to step into action. He helps her wash the dishes when they’re done, catching glimpses of her face as he dries. Her brows are furrowed once again as she mulls over her thoughts. She passes the last utensil to him, cleans her hands on a cloth and returns to her computers. 

“Someone on this ship gave us that tablet,” he prods after he puts the spork in the drawer. “Perhaps whoever did is a friend.”

“Secrecy and trust,” Larka says as she types away. “That is the backbone of the Blade of Marmora. Without it, you would never have been born. We would never have left Gal. People have to prove their trustworthiness to us Blades. Someone who leaves me a piece of technology on the ground, someone who has me follow a trail of breadcrumbs leading to evidence of my son’s mate being violated in such a manner is not an ally.” She pauses in her typing, to look over at him. Her yellow eyes shimmer gold and unyielding. 

Keith tightly nods. “Okay. I understand.”

She scrutinizes him once more, before turning back to her research. 

“I’m still not leaving you behind,” he says flippantly.

Larka chuffs in irritation. Before, she can say anything more, there is a heavy knocking. Larka’s fingers stop in their tapping and Keith stares at the door. Could it be the person—

The door opens automatically and two sentries step into the room. They have no weaponry, but it seems they don’t need it. 

“Princess Larka, you are wanted in High Priestess Haggar’s personal suite,” one sentry orders mechanically. 

Keith watches as his mother slowly stands, her eyes wild with worry at the fact that her equipment is laying out for all eyes to see. The sentries largely ignore it, but it’s Keith who takes the next move.

“Why does she need my mom?” Keith asks, taking a protective step forward. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The leading sentry regards Keith with a vacant, unmovable expression. “There has been an attack on one of the High Priestess’ laboratories, she needs to be examined by the druids. 

Keith grits his teeth, staring down at the floor. Why hadn’t he thought of that before asking his mother to kill the clones? Why didn’t he think this through? 

“You can accompany us, if you’d like,” the second sentry says, “but the Princess will be attending—”

“That won’t be necessary,” says a haughty voice from behind them. Keith looks up to see a flash of lavender skin and long white hair. A set of familiar eyes catch his own and he feels anger, annoyance, and mild relief roil in his belly. 

“Prince Lotor,” the sentries greet aloud, bowing at the waist. 

Lotor waves his hand in disinterest. “I just returned from meeting with the druids. Haggar has made Larka and her son my responsibility now.”

The sentries share a look, but they don’t move. Even Larka looks scandalized by the appearance of her brother. 

“You can leave now,” Lotor says in annoyance, tossing a sideways glance at the sentries. 

They scurry from the room, the door sliding shut behind them. 

“Did you eat already?” Lotor asks absentmindedly, walking past Keith to enter the kitchen. 

“What are you doing here? I doubt Haggar would—”

“You’re right,” Lotor interrupts his sister. “Mother wouldn’t give me custody of you both. She may be absent a few screws and cogs, but she’s not stupid.” 

Keith looks over at Larka. Her jaw twitches as she stares at her brother’s strong back and broad shoulders. The animosity between the two siblings is palpable. 

“And yes, I know that Mother is Haggar,” Lotor chuckles. “I’ve known for a while. I doubt that you have though. It’s sad, really it is. You shouldn’t have been so eager to run away from her. But that's a secret our family can keep, right?”

“What do you want?” Keith asks, fist clenched tightly at his sides. He’s tried of hearing the prince prattle on uselessly. Lotor wants something and Keith is going to make sure the price is too high. 

Lotor turns to appraise Keith, a white eyebrow arched in question. “I know we haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced properly and we’ve only met a couple of times, but you’d do well to remember—”

“What do you want?” Keith asks again. 

Lotor’s upper lips curls, but the expression is gone as a dark shadow passes over his face. The prince looks at his sister, before letting out a low sigh as if he’s the one without all the power. 

“The witch may not have been the one who sent me, but I did speak with the druids. I wanted to get here before the sentries did, but I—”

Larka chuffs angrily, “Lotor, if you don’t answer…”

“I was getting to it,” Lotor says with a smile, raising his hands up in surrender. “I need your help with something. Scientifically speaking, I require the knowledge you’ve gained during your time working alongside Mother… and I’m assuming you’ve continued on your own.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “In exchange, I’ll help you and your son get off this ship.”

Keith’s eyes widen. It’s almost too good to be true, that this would fall so delicately into their laps. They had turned their gaze to Lotor and then the prince just appears to let them walk aboard his own ship. Larka seems to be just as wary and it shows on her face. 

“Father doesn’t need us anymore,” Lotor implores, eyes almost sad in the dim light of the room. “Eventually he’ll get tired of us working behind the scenes to oppose him. He’ll kill us. He’ll kill your son. You know that. Work with me, endure my companionship for just a little while and then I’ll leave you with a safe civilized people where your Blade of Marmora can come to retrieve you.”

“Alright, we’ll come with you,” Keith says without pause. His voice sounds unfamiliar and eager in his ears. This is what they’ve been waiting for, but he can already feel his mother’s chastising expression. It’s Lotor who smiles graciously, turning to look at Keith. 

“I like your son, sis,” Lotor says mockingly. “I almost wish to make him my apprentice.”

“Apprentice?” Keith asks, ignoring his mother’s wide eyes. 

“Even though your rebellions may be gaining traction, it will inevitable be crushed,” Lotor continues. “If you back my goals for the Empire, the both of you will have your freedom and a chance to make real change for our people.”

Keith doubts Lotor’s words. Doubts his motivations by the chilling stare in his eyes, the borders glinting as if he doesn’t believe his own plan will work. Lotor only shows parts of the truth to those he wants and gambles with the pawns he creates. 

Larka lets Keith take the lead as they board Lotor’s ship, as he sneaks and secrets them away to wherever he’s set up his own base. It’s uncomfortably humid as Lotor’s generals take him in. The red-orange hybrid, he met before, greets him with a happy smile and a big hug. 

“I’m Ezor!” she squeals, but there’s something duplicitous in her voice that makes him take a step back and into another hulking embrace from a hybrid named Zethrid. Keith is even surprised when he spots Sendak standing by a wall on the bridge with a new, but more proportional sized, prosthetic. He looks out of place and just as confused as Larka. 

Keith hopes that he made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New updates will be every Monday!


	12. Spirit

The portal Coran creates leaves a brilliant glimmer across Lance’s cerulean irises. The last few quintants had left a sour taste in his mouth. Between the take over on Gal and his missing friend, he feels his nerves fraying, unwinding and spiraling out into space. For the days that followed the mission on Gal, Voltron had taken on the role as an escort. Whatever outposts that remained, the Galra Empire had either relocated or refortified. But Zarkon hadn’t ordered an attack on the colony. That twisted outcome made the sour taste in his mouth flower into his stomach, unfurling with bitterness. What was Zarkon planning now that they had taken what had served as his major storage facility? 

And what was _Lotor_ doing?

A part of Lance wanted to board the stupid royal warship when they had the chance and rip Lotor from his commander’s seat. But that was so long ago. The prince had given them trouble for phoebs and now, finally, they had the upper hand. With that power shift, Lotor wasn’t arrogant enough to fight them when he realized he had been outmaneuvered by Shiro. 

Lance scrubs a calloused hand through his hair as the portal closes behind the Castleship. He needs some hand lotion, a hot bath, a few drops of sweet-smelling oils, a nourishing face mask, and a pat of creamy body butter. He enjoys helping the refugees and ferrying resources back and forth between Gal and the Marmorite headquarters, he doesn’t doubt that at all, but he still feels his lids droop with exhaustion. He winces, belly gurgling with hunger.

“We’re approaching the colony of Gal, population around three billion Galran civilians and four hundred refugees from across the nearest five quadrants,” Coran pipes up from his spot at the front consoles.

“Thank you. Coran.” Pidge’s voice sounds stressed. “You remind us every time we return.”

From the distance they’re at, Gal looks to be a similar size to Earth’s Martian neighbor and just as ruddy in color. Dark oceans and rivers glitter off the nearest star and trees reach out, stretched and aching to touch the sky. The Castleship lands down outside the citadel, planting its anchors deep into the ground. 

“Alright, team,” Shiro starts, heading off the bridge first, “we’ll reconvene in three vargas for the meeting.”

As if on autopilot, Lance drags his feet all the way to his room and loads his fluffy bathrobe and toiletries into a bag before heading out of the Castle of Lions. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder, Lance takes a worn path to the communal bath hall. 

A dome building sandwiched between a bustling marketplace and a vacant administrative building holds the bath house. Visited by officials and once upon a time the military, it is now home to the refugees and those Imperial Galra that have flocked to aid the Blade of Marmora. Mosaic sub-lights circle the inside of the domed ceiling and gauzy drapes dangle down. Long dark red columns surround the outside, contrasting with the light gray walls and tan-cream benches. Even as an indoor bath house, doorways arch open, letting the slightest breeze billow in and swirl through the steam. It’s a larger bath hall than the one back at headquarters, but it’s no less familiar. 

Lance had only hoped that there weren’t many people here. A few Galrans – Imperials and Blades alike – soak in the water grooming one another. A handful of rebels from Matt’s troop sit talking and splashing Regris while his tail flicks lazily through the water, his scarred chin pulled tight against his smile. An alien, squid-like in appearance and with the face of a remora, floats comfortably in the deepest area. Even some of the refugees, timid and wary, sit at the edges of the main pool, their feet and legs soaking. For the most part everyone seems so happy. And he wishes it could always be like this. 

He undresses in the locker stall, rubs his face mask on, and walks back out. Nudity doesn’t seem to be such a shameful thing here and Lance takes full advantage of that. A few Marmorites wave at him, almost beckoning him to join them, but he waves and shakes his head. Starting towards a reclusive area, he slips slowly into the hot water. Breathing deeply with a sigh of relief and closing his eyes, he sinks down to his shoulders, pushing himself against the heated stone bench. The soft lapping of the water lulls him into a dull stupor, the herbal scented bath oils tickling his nose.

“May I join you?” 

Lance nearly shrieks, sitting upright and eyes flying open wildly. Allura stands in a white sarong looking as angelic as always. Pale eyelashes dewy and dark cheeks flushed from the humid air. Her long white hair is coiled up in a high chignon, but he can see the waves are more defined, curly and textured in this moment. He wants to thread his fingers through it, coil the length of it in his hand as he leans in for—

“Lance?” Allura asks, head cocked to the side and a soft smile playing at her lips. 

He jerks out of his daydream, hastily nodding. He turns away, giving Allura privacy as she strips out of the fabric. The water laps around him when she slips in. When she’s finally submerged, he watches her as she unravels one of the sheer drapes to give them additional privacy, the hem dancing across the surface of the perfumed water. 

“Where is everyone else?” Lance asks, after clearing his throat.

“Shiro is resting,” she starts, “Pidge is playing video games with Umaala and Matt, and Hunk’s calling Shay.”

“What about Coran?”

“Talking with Kolivan,” Allura says, tensely.

Lance’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Allura says flippantly. “Only that Kolivan wants to refocus his efforts on Lotor…”

Lance looks at her expectantly. “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

Allura is silent for a moment, shifting in the bath water before moving closer to him on the stone bench. “Matt’s leader, Tee-osh… she picked up a transmission and broadcasted it to Hazar,” she explains quietly. “It was a message from my cousin saying that Zarkon is continuing with his original plans on taking the Black Lion. That he may be trying to build his own team.”

“Zarkon wants to have his own paladins for Voltron?” Lance asks, befuddled. Had the madman come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t pilot Voltron alone? He could at least realize that the Black Lion would never accept them, too. That would take a lot of weight off Shiro’s back and end a portion of this war. 

Allura looks away, her eyes glistening. Nodding and drawing in a deep breath, the princess continues, “She also said that her transmissions would be rare. She doubted that we would even receive the message at all.”

“What about an extraction? Why haven’t we stormed in there yet?” Lance rarely feels a rage this palpable, but he’s furious. Keith had relented, a long time ago, in saving Allura when she was in Imperial custody and had been taken to Zarkon. Why couldn’t they have done the same for him? What was the cost for this rare information? Keith and his mother’s lives? 

“I know you’re concerned,” she muttered.

Lance bites his tongue. 

Their cocoon of silence is heady and warm. He can dimly hear the splash of water from the others, the slap of wet feet against stone as people leave, a squeal as someone pushes another into the deep end. But the drape, thankfully, blocks out most of the noise. Allura leans her head against his naked shoulder and sighs. 

“I miss Altea and my father and my mother,” she utters softly. “I really, _really_ miss what we used to be… my family. You know my aunt, Honerva, she hated tradition. Every festival, every holiday, every religious text, she complained incessantly to my father. I was eavesdropping, of course… she’d paint a smile on her face when we were all looking. Is it strange to say that Pidge reminds me of her?

“Their personalities are entirely different, but Pidge’s love for science and innovation is so familiar. She’s learning Altean so easily. She adapts so quickly to whatever situation we get ourselves into. She searches for the truth. It’s probably why she spent so much time with Larka in the laboratories. 

“And Zarkon… he wasn’t always like this. My father and Zarkon were brothers in arms, brothers by law. They spent so much time together. I thought they were inseparable, devoted to this vision of clean energy and peacekeeping and—”

Allura’s voice cracks and she curls closer to Lance. He lets her ramble on. She’s worn out and wrung dry. Depleted of energy by their plans constantly changing: serving as escorts for revolutionaries, hunting down Lotor, hiding from Zarkon. When King Alfor had placed her in a pod to sleep ten thousand years ago, did he imagine that his daughter would have to fight against the tyrant she once called uncle? 

“Do you miss Earth?” She murmurs the question into the soft skin of his upper arm. He flushes, feeling her lips moving against him.

Lance gulps, “Yes, Princess. I miss my family, too.” He misses his stepparents, his father, his aunts and uncles, his siblings and cousins, but he misses his grandmother and mother most of all. And he misses the beach and clear, warm water and the smell of salt in the air and accidentally gulping down a mouthful of the ocean.

Allura shifts closer, turning towards him. Doe eyed and blushing, Allura presses her lips to his. Lance’s eyes flutter shut as he twists closer. Her hand tucks itself around his jaw, her fingers playing with the shell of his strange ear. Her forefinger presses softly against the curved cartilage. Her lips are sweet and warm, the kiss delicate and fragile. One of his hands rest shakily at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling through the soft loose curls, while the other rests on the rim of the bath basin. 

Finally, it’s Lance who pulls away, his gut giddy with butterflies. When he opens his eyes, he sees the few smudges of sea green face mask on her cheeks and chin. 

“That… that was good, right?” he asks, bashfully wiping away the damp product with warm water.

Allura smiles before leaning in for another kiss.


	13. Erosion

Pidge glides down the pristine, white corridor that leads to the bridge. Her rollerblades skating steadily on the glossy floor. She’s on her third milkshake that morning. The icy treat is always refreshing during these long voyages. Pidge purses her lips around the straw, guzzling down another swig before reaching the sliding doors. 

“So…” she starts, entering the bridge and surveying the damage. Everyone is at their posts, tapping away at their screens. The moment reminds her of one dinner with her parents and brother. They had all been scrolling through their phones distractedly, taking frugal bites from her mother’s roast. Her mother had been furious at the lack of conversation. Phones had been permanently banned at dinner time after that. 

A pang of longing hits her chest, but she shakes it off. She has her brother back. That’s a start. It proves that her family can be whole again and that maybe after all this mess is done, she can pick her mom up in the Green Lion and take her anywhere in the universe.

“What’s going on?”

Shiro looks back, just as she rolls into her seat and plops down haphazardly. The melting milkshake sloshes in the tall glass, threatening to spill over her console. She grimaces, biting her lower lip. 

“Careful,” Shiro says, smiling.

“Your brother just sent us a message,” Allura says, sliding her forefinger across a hologram. A blue screen materializes in front of her, casting a soft glow across her face. “Tee-osh received word from an outpost on the fringes of the Galra Empire. Her agents at that location picked up an audio frequency from a passing science freighter. Lotor’s generals are heading to a Galra base in the Ulippa system.”

“Uh… Zarkon’s just letting Lotor wander around after that major screw up…” Hunk’s voice trails off.

“Not Lotor,” Lance reminds Hunk. “His generals.”

“He must be sending them to do his dirty work,” Shiro adds. 

“We must assume that he will be nearby,” Coran remarks.

“What Galra base?” Pidge asks. 

Allura is silent for a moment, before scrolling through more of Matt’s message. 

“An unmarked storage facility used by the druids,” she answers. “The rebels had it under surveillance about a deca-phoeb ago, but they eventually had to pull back their resources at the time.”

“Maybe they should have kept watching it,” Lance mutters. 

Pidge takes a sip from her milkshake, the cold frosted glass sweating against her fingers. “So, what’s the plan? Attack him before he takes what he wants?” She hastily wipes her fingers on her shorts.

“Do you guys think that it has something to do with the comet?” Hunk asks, looking back and forth between Allura and Shiro. “Listen, we haven’t talked about the second comet since Lotor managed to take it back from us.”

Pidge winces, feeling her body ache at the memory. She and Green had taken the brunt of that battle. With her body so badly bruised, the team feared that she had internal bleeding. The Green Lion had taken hit after hit from Lotor’s ships. Somehow, through their psychic link, Pidge had been wounded just as much as her lion. When she was released from the sleep pod, she had heard that Hunk had argued endlessly with Shiro. They had been too reckless, traveling through a rift to retrieve a mysterious object. They hadn’t taken into consideration that they had enemies everywhere, waiting for their chances to pounce. That was what Lotor had done, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Pidge shrugs off the phantom pains. 

Since then, the tables had turned. The Galra Empire, although now back under Zarkon’s command, was still just as fragile. The revolutionaries had reclaimed a major base of operation and every rebel faction was now using it. Their resources were only growing. 

But what if that amount of time let Lotor regroup? Did he have another plan at the ready?

“We still don’t know why he needs that comet,” Allura mutters as she continues to read Matt’s message. 

“What if he’s trying to build a lion?” Pidge asks. “That’s what your father used to build Voltron. Would he be able to—”

“Quiznak!” Allura interrupts, frantically. She’s scrolling through the message. “Tee-osh knows what’s in that facility. It’s a Teludav lens. _Our Teludav lens._ ”

“W-why would Lotor need a Teludav lens?” Pidge inquires. “I mean, we know he’s half Altean, but… is he going to operate it himself?”

“Keith doesn’t know how to operate the technology, but Larka does,” Coran answers, twirling the right side of his mustache around his forefinger. “But remember… he had docked near Central Command, he left Keith and Larka there. And from Larka’s message, they are still aboard the dreadnought. Lotor wouldn’t be able to scoop them both out from under his father’s nose like that.”

“Yeah,” Hunk adds, “wouldn’t Zarkon, like, go crazy?”

“Well, what about Haggar?” Lance asks. “She’s Altean. Wouldn’t she be able to operate whatever Lotor’s trying to build?”

“I doubt Lotor would be working alongside her,” Coran says. “She’s too loyal to Zarkon.”

Pidge furrows her eyebrows and glances over at Shiro. His shoulders are hunched over, silent and hesitant. 

“Shiro,” she says. “What do you think?”

Shiro is quiet before looking back at them. There’s a dark shadow across his face: irritation, anger… melancholy? But it’s not aimed at them.

“Maybe one of his generals are half Altean?” he posits. “Or he could operate the tech himself, on his own. Larka is a scientist, and she obviously takes after her mother. Lotor could take after his mother, too.” He shares a look with Coran and Pidge feels more secrets percolating throughout the bridge. 

She sighs softly. She thought they were all past this. Welp, time to break the ice. 

“I have an entanglement amplifier,” Pidge admits. “I found it in Larka’s lab, but I took it because I thought that if Keith was on Lotor’s ship he could hail us and we could track them through that signal. We could find out where Lotor goes and what he’s planning.”

“Pidge,” Hunk grits his teeth. “Not—”

“Then when?” she snaps. Shaking her head, she tries to clear her thoughts by taking another swig of her runny milkshake. “We hadn’t heard anything from Larka or Keith for months. Finally, last week we heard back, but we have no clue how long that had been bouncing off of Galra relays or even rebel relays. We don’t know when their next message will be and Larka said so blatantly. 

“They could be working like the Blades do. We have to hope they’re taking in information and pocketing it, until they can safely transmit it. Ulaz or Thace had done that. We have to assume that they’ll infiltrate the druids, the military, or even Lotor’s ranks.”

Pidge looks over at Allura. “Larka’s been doing this since you and Coran have been asleep. We gotta assume that she’d take this time to train Keith. It would be the best environment to do so,” she pauses. “I think we also have to assume that the Garrison may be compromised.”

There’s an outburst from Lance, a loud sigh from Hunk, and even Allura is sputtering away. It is only Shiro and Coran who are tight-lipped as ever. Pidge presses on.

“Ulaz had been the one who let me into Larka’s lab. That’s how I found the amplifier. But he told me some information that I wasn’t aware of and I’m sure everyone else wasn’t either. We all know that Larka is the one who hid the Blue Lion. But Ulaz told me that after Thace and Larka returned to Gal, after they left Keith on Earth, Larka had returned to Earth with Antok.”

“Why?” Lance asks, his tone now more serious. 

“Kolivan had apparently sent them on a mission to protect the Blue Lion. Their debriefing is probably at the Record,” she states, pragmatic as ever.

“Why would the Blue Lion need extra protection?” Allura asks, but it’s almost too quiet to hear. 

“First, Larka left the Blue Lion on Earth,” Pidge continues. “Then, she leaves her son. And just a few weeks or months later, she returns to check up on the Blue Lion.”

“So… what happened in between those two points? Why would—”

“Why would _Kolivan_ send Larka and Antok to Earth?” Pidge interrupts Hunk, her gaze trained on Shiro. 

_What does he know and why is he keeping it from us?_ she thinks. 

“I _really_ don’t understand where you’re going with this, Pidge,” Lance says, exasperated. “I mean, Keith is usually the one talking about conspiracy theories and—” 

“It’s not a conspiracy theory,” she says, gritting her teeth.

Hunk sighs. “Pidge thinks that there may be Galra Imperials on Earth, or that at the very least, the Garrison knows about the Galra. Some of the tech in Keith’s adopted dad’s house looked almost Altean. _Almost._ And she thinks it was weird that Shiro, Matt, and her dad were the ones to go missing,” Hunk pauses to look at Shiro. “She thinks that you guys may have been test subjects, which is really, really obvious when it comes to you, Shiro. No offense. But… I also have to agree with her. Before we found Allura and Coran, Zarkon was close to finding all of the lions.”

Lance whips his head around so hard, Pidge can practically hear the air whistle.

“That’s actually… so true. There was a ship heading straight for Earth. And that’s not the first time that a Galra vessel entered our solar system. And then there was the planet that was hiding the Yellow Lion. The Galra were mining it. They dug deep into the ground. All Zarkon needed was—”

“Green and Black,” Allura says, breathless. “Pidge, I believe I understand what you’re saying. But what _are_ you getting at?”

Pidge takes a deep breath. “We know of only one species that can blend into any society, and that’s yours. The Alteans. And if Haggar is Altean, if Larka and Lotor _and_ Keith have Altean blood, there could be many more Alteans…” She trails off, clears her throat, and starts again. “Alteans are chameleons. They could be on Earth right now. They could have always known that the Blue Lion was there. Heck, they could have known Keith was there. And maybe the Blades knew of this. Maybe the Blades knew that there were Alteans there and they knew that maybe… _just maybe_ Keith was going to be safe there.”

“But that would mean—”

“There’s a faction of Imperials that aren’t loyal to Zarkon,” Pidge says. “We may not know their motives, but if there are Alteans on Earth, they may be the reason that it took so long for Zarkon to locate—”

“Pidge,” Shiro says, tersely. “Enough.”

“But Shiro, maybe Lotor is in this faction,” Pidge says hastily. “There was a reason Iverson wasn’t bent out of shape about you landing on Garrison grounds with an alien arm and an alien escape pod. I mean they were way too calm about it. They—”

“They were just following through with quarantine protocol. That’s all,” he says, turning back to his console. He lets out a sigh. “We’ll talk more about this _after_ we deal with this storage facility.”

Pidge grinds her teeth together, her hand clenching firmly around the tall glass. Taking a deep breath, Pidge nods to herself. This is progress. If Shiro wants to have this conversation after they beat Lotor’s generals for custody over the Teludav lens, so be it. 

She’ll get her answers.

~~

“Why does Prince Lotor have us stealing this lens?” Ezor asks, cheerfully.

“We’re not stealing it,” Zethrid says. “It’s just borrowing, right?”

“Does it matter?” Ezor asks with a grin.

A slow smiles spreads over Zethrid’s face.

“Shut up,” Acxa mutters, peering around the corner to appraise the doorway leading to the command center. The dark gray metal seems locked down tight, but they’ll manage. “We could always knock,” Acxa says aloud.

“What?” 

Acxa blinks, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.” In her peripheral vision, Narti inquisitively cocks her head. Even with her blindness, she’s scrutinizing Acxa for weaknesses. She doesn’t need Kova for that. Narti can always read people. 

“We don’t need stealth for this,” Acxa says, “or brute strength. Narti, can you take control of him?”

Narti nods in affirmation before taking the lead. 

Zethrid chuffs in aggravation, probably about how she won’t be able to thrash Throk for the codes to the main warehouse. 

It’s not like Acxa to want to smash her way through situations and people. She prefers to account for every liability, observe and then execute. But having to deal with racist scum, like Commander Throk, makes her want to throttle the soldier until he can’t breathe. Acxa takes a deep breath before signaling the team forward. She doesn’t normally enjoy taking command; she’d rather leave that to their esteemed leader. But he’s busy with his nephew and sister, and Acxa slips into the role of leadership with ease. 

Zethrid plants five silver disks against the entrance to the command center, before pressing a button on her gauntlet. A transparent purple shield generates from the armor. The team quickly hides behind Zethrid’s bulk as the disks detonate, blasting open the door in a gust of debris and gray powder. A rough screech of “What?!?” sounds off from within the control room. Acxa rolls her eyes. Throk may be a loyal soldier of the Empire, but he’s all bark and no bite. When the smoke dissipates and Zethrid’s protective shield falls with it, Narti takes the lead with Kova perched on her shoulder like a heralding guide. 

Surrounded by the main consoles, with a plasma rifle in his arms, is Commander Throk. She’s glad he’s the one they must deal with and not some other experienced soldier. 

_“He’s easily manipulated. Make sure he’s transferred out before we leave the dreadnought,”_ Prince Lotor had ordered before the generals dispatched from his royal fleet. _“I cannot be the one to retrieve the lens.”_

Acxa trusts Prince Lotor with her life. She knows she idolizes him. Everything she does is because she believes in his motivations and goals. It’s what is best for people like them. And if Lotor trusts her with this mission then—

Acxa’s eyes widen as she surveys the controls behind him. The emergency beacon is activated, blinking bright red.

“He’s called for backup,” Zethrid growls, her large hand flexing to bash Throk’s brains in.

“Narti, now.”

The silent general raises a hand, fingers reaching towards the shamed commander. A glazed expression filters across his yellow eyes, shimmering and controlled by whatever this magic is that Narti possesses. Out of all of Prince Lotor’s generals, Narti is the most mysterious and not just because of her quiet demeanor. Her past is something rarely documented or discussed, her mannerisms druid-like in nature. Was her Galra parent a druid? Did they train her before she became disenchanted by the Empire’s laws and desires? Why did she join Prince Lotor?

Acxa shakes her head, to clear her thoughts. She trusts her teammate. 

Narti has gained complete control of Throk, his rifle lying discarded on the floor. They don’t have much time now. The nearest Imperial fleet is three quadrants away, but they’ll answer the distress call. Especially when there is something so special sitting in this storage facility. 

The soft whispers of the void percolates through the air as Narti concentrates: reading Throk’s dark ambitions and goals, peeling away the codes and passwords needed to enter one of the warehouses.

“You think Prince Lotor will let me play with Prince Kythel?” Ezor says, leaning across one of the consoles with her head cocked. “He’s adorable!”

“Prince Lotor will want to train him, _personally_ ,” Acxa admits, almost growing impatient with how long Narti’s taking.

“I looked through the files back at Central Command,” Ezor continues. “I saw the wanted posters for his dad. Prince Kythel looks like him.”

“Don’t agitate his mother, please,” Acxa shakes her head. “I’m begging you, Ezor.”

“Plus,” Zethrid grins, “you already know he’s got a mate.”

“A girl can dream,” Ezor pouts. 

Acxa grits her teeth. 

Kova turns around, still perched on Narti’s shoulder, and appraises them each with narrowed eyes. Something on the screen shows a mechanism being unlocked. 

“The warehouse is open,” Acxa says, understanding why Kova turned to them as Narti’s arm drops. “Let’s go.”

~~

Larka watches her brother, pacing back and forth on the bridge of his ship with one arm crossed over his chest and the other perched, his chin resting on his knuckles. He’s nervous.

“They haven’t checked in for some time,” Larka says, raising an eyebrow. “How long did you think it would take?”

“Shut up, Larka,” he says, before sitting on his command chair.

“You seem anxious,” she continues. “Are things not going as planned?”

He looks over at her lazily, but says nothing. 

Finally, the communication link buzzes softly before General Acxa’s voice filters through the static. 

“Prince Lotor, we’ve picked up the payload and we’re heading to the Deadzone.”

“Good, we’ll meet you there,” Lotor says, a knowing smile climbing his face. He turns to Larka. “Prepare us for the jump.”

She grits her teeth, sharing a look with Keith from across the bridge. Leaving Lotor's side, Larka stands at one of the main consoles. Usually, his generals are the one to pilot this ship, but apparently Lotor feels comfortable letting Keith and herself pick up some of the slack. She finds it has less to do with trust, and more to do with keeping them on a short leash. Lotor knows what she’s capable of. If he turns away from her for one moment, she’ll shove Keith into an escape pod and set a course for the nearest star. She’ll kill her brother and herself, along with Sendak’s hulking presence, if she got the chance. 

“The coordinates, Lotor?” she asks. 

“Use the preset ones in the guidance system,” he answers.

Larka grits her teeth. Of course. 

There’s static once more on the communication link.

“Prince Lotor, we have a problem,” General Acxa says, her tone wavering. “Voltron is here.”

Keith freezes, as does Lotor. Larka feels it, the air thick with tension.

“Whatever you do,” Lotor says, after a moment of silence, “do not let them obtain the lens.”

“If you—” Keith begins, but Lotor raises his hand, ignoring him.

“I need the remnant intact, Acxa,” Lotor continues.

More static.

“Understood, Your Imperial Highness,” Acxa says. 

As the thin connection fades, Larka hears the plasma fire echo in the background. She looks at Lotor. His fists are clenched tightly on the arms of his chair. Her eyes rove over his tense, fatigued figure. If Voltron bests him again, it will be for the second time. How many hits can he take until he drops his guard? Would he turn to her for wisdom? 

All these deca-phoebs later and Larka still doesn’t know her brother’s weaknesses. He’s always kept his cards close to his chest. He has always been more patient than she had ever been. But he’s finally moving his pawns around towards his goals, finally taking action, and yet it doesn’t seem to be falling into place. 

Lotor must notice her stare, because his tone is dark and steadfast. “The preset coordinates, sister. Now.”

Larka chuffs, rolling her eyes, before tapping at the screen in front of her. 

“Kythel, initiate the hyper-drive,” Larka says as Lotor addresses the rest of his troops via comm link.

He sidles up to her, fingers dashing across one of the keyboards. They wear Lotor’s uniforms, the colors of black and gray, light cobalt and dark orange. Assimilating into his ranks. She knows why Lotor picks that orange color. It represents vengeance in Altean culture. Why? Why would he make it so obvious to those who would know their heritage? 

_A mockery,_ she thinks. 

Keith’s hands still when the communication link opens again and Acxa’s shaky voice streams in.

“The Blue Lion,” she says, “the Blue Lion just destroyed the lens!”

Lotor stands up, hands balled into fists. Keith lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Meet us at the Deadzone,” he says, and closes the link. Striding towards them, he slams Keith’s hand down on the hyper-drive console. The ship jolts forward, stars dancing back as they hurdle through hyper-space. She feels Lotor breathing heavily over her shoulder. “Larka, who pilots the Blue Lion?”

“Who do you think?” she answers with a question. She can smell her brother, sugary desserts and herbal tea, gun oil and chemicals from the laboratory aboard the ship. “Allura will not stand for whatever you’re planning.”

“Even if it’s for her benefit, too?” Lotor breathes softly now, trying to calm himself. Even though it’s only the three of them on the bridge, he won’t lash out here, in public. “She does not understand what I’m trying to accomplish. None of you do.”

“You act as if she’s being unreasonable,” Larka says, eyes narrowed. “You’re in the wrong here, brother. You haven’t given _anyone_ a reason to trust you.”

“Trust?” Lotor’s hand encircles her upper arm. “I’m trying to get—”

Keith cuts off his words. “It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to accomplish. Allura won’t trust you if you’re secretive. Your loyalties waver and you seem more dangerous than Zarkon.”

Her son is trying to barter his way aboard Lotor’s crew. If he won’t tell them what he’s planning, they’ll infiltrate. There are some things that the Blade of Marmora won’t have to train him for; Keith adapts well enough on his own. 

“Why do you need the lens?” Larka asks, plainly. “We can help you, if you give a good enough reason.”

Lotor turns away, releasing her arm from his firm grip. “Nothing I tell you would be a good enough reason.”

Larka grits her teeth. 

“Mom, you okay?” Keith asks, a worried expression on his face.

She nods tightly, staring out the front window, watching the star systems race past them. It’s time to send another message and she’ll need Keith’s help to do it. She shares this thought with druid magic, packing whispers and threading their minds together through a neural link. It is good that his mind is open to her, but she’ll have to teach him how to properly keep magic users out later. Keith’s expression is confused as their minds meet, safely tucked away from Lotor, her magic layered thick and suffocating. Her undertones cross over to him.

 _After dinner and my sparring match with Lotor,_ Keith answers warily. Not understanding the link fully. _We’ll build a communicator to bypass Lotor’s intra-communication system._

“Drop out of hyper-space,” Lotor’s voice breaks through their telepathic curtain. “We’re almost there.”

Larka snaps the neural link apart and it sends her mind reeling. It’s not the most delicate extraction and she knows a migraine will roll upon her soon. 

Scrubbing at his throbbing forehead, Keith eases the hyper-drive off for a smoother exit. Lotor leaves the bridge before they can properly see what is on the opposite side of the front window. 

An asteroid belt, a smattering of red-brown rocks with an expansive space station built and coiled among them like a dying reef. A deadzone.

“How long has he been at this?” Keith asks, breathless.

“Before you were born, Kythel,” she says, gritting her teeth. She grimaces. What in the name of the Ancients is Lotor doing out here?

~~

“None of this makes sense.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Hunk says, arms crossed over his chest. “We just blasted something that they stole from us.”

“It was a piece of debris,” Dorma says, her tone soft. “We don’t know what exactly he needs it for, but—”

“He obviously needs it for something,” Hazar finishes his sister’s sentence. “He just didn’t want to sacrifice himself for it.”

“That’s two defeats,” Lance says, leaning his hands on the large oval table. “How many can his ego take?”

“It doesn’t matter how many battles we beat him in,” Kolivan starts, “what truly matters is that we win this war _with Zarkon_.”

“No one is arguing that fact,” Tee-osh says over the hologram video feed. “I’ll be sending another one of my rebel factions to Gal. Matt, you’ll take command.”

A flush creeps up Matt’s face. “Thank you, Commander Tee-osh.”

Although Pidge is proud of her brother, she still feels the pang of betrayal. Not only is Shiro keeping things a secret, but so is Matt. So is Coran and now her skepticism of Kolivan is blossoming anew. It’s like the four of them are holding clandestine meetings, tucking themselves into an alcove like those shrouded druids. 

“We still don’t understand why he wants that Teludav,” Pidge says. “Shouldn’t we be focusing on his plans? That’s what Keith would want: to focus on the most active player on this board. We just took something vital away from him. We need to find out why he wanted that piece of tech and—”

“Pidge,” Matt starts, sheepishly. “Shiro told me your theory. And although we may not have all the pieces to this puzzle, you did help put it together. Kolivan, Tee-osh, Coran, Shiro, and I… we — _I_ — have something to say. I learned about this when I was held by the Galra and then… Shiro found out, too. 

“There’s a faction of druids who are working outside the High Priestess’ control. We don’t know for how long, but quite possibly the past thirty years. Lotor, Hagger, Larka, Keith, Allura, and Coran aren’t the only Alteans at the Empire’s disposal.”

Pidge’s entire world shifts on its axis. Her stomach is an empty pit, awash with melancholy and rage and denial. Her chest feels tender, hurt, collapsing. Too many secrets. Too many half-truths. Too many—

“Dad is one of those Alteans, Katie.”

It’s not the answer she expects to hear, not in that refurbished administration building on Gal, but still Coran presses onward.

“It’s about time you all knew the origins of Voltron,” he says, solemnly, “and how the war started.”


	14. Augur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this chapter is kind of experimental in its format. I hope it's easy to follow because I tried to rework it in a few different ways, but this is ultimately the crap I decided to do. Prepare for infodumping and a lot of dialogue. Annnyways, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday! Happy New Year!

_“Is this necessary?” Pidge asks, grinding her teeth together. “What does this have to do with my dad?”_

_“Hush, Number Five,” Coran shushes, his lips drawn down in a frown. “Allow me to tell you this tale about the origins of Voltron and the start of the war that began ten thousand years ago. In the beginning, there were five leaders – Alfor, Zarkon, Blaytz, Trigel, and Gyrgan. Though all of them had their struggles with one another—”_

_“Take us back farther,” Kolivan’s gruff tone interrupts Coran. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brows furrowed. “If the story must be told, let it start from the very beginning.”_

_“What?” Coran inquires, almost grimacing at Kolivan’s words._

_“Tell the story from when tensions were high between each planet in our star system. When Pollux had enslaved Daibazaal and the Dalterion Belt. When Alfor and Zarkon had joined forces. Not just about the creation of Voltron. Because it is not just about the Legendary Defender or those who rally behind Zarkon or even Lotor’s agenda. This is about how good intentions can turn deadly and, how even now, we must deal with the aftermath and make sure that knowledge is preserved for future generations. So, we won't do what was done in the past.”_

_Coran takes a deep breath, even as Pidge’s eyes narrow in skepticism._

_“All five of their worlds belonged to the same system,” Coran sighs, voice slightly quaking between deep breaths. “But many of them turned away from the atrocities committed by the Polluxi. The invaders swept through the other planets, claiming Daibazaal and the Dalterion Belt. Zarkon and Trigel’s peoples suffered beneath the hands of these foreigners even before any of us were born. Zarkon and Trigel, themselves, had grown up during this period of enslavement. Finally, King Raimon of Altea – Princess Allura’s grandfather – had grown disgusted by the instability and brutality that traveled throughout his own solar system. For deca-phoebs, the solar system rose up and waged war against the Polluxi and eventually pushed them out._

_“In the aftermath of King Raimon’s death and the end of the war, the leaders of the most populated planets had yearned to make the universe a better place. They forged a pact and created a team that reigned over the differences they once had with each other. Under their leaderships, those worlds flourished, as did their alliance.”_

**

Red-violet blood coats the inside of Zarkon’s lips, twisting with the bitter tang of violence. The head of his mace makes a sickening crack against the scavenger’s skull. Brain and bone glistens against the stuffy cavern walls. Speckles of blood glitter across the stalagmites at the corners of his vision.

“Thanks for that, brother,” Gyrgan says, turning to him and smiling with a goofy face. 

“I had him,” Trigel mutters, as her hands grip tightly to her own weapon. 

“Too slow,” Zarkon quips, grinning over at Blaytz who helps Alfor off the ground.

“If Alfor had waited—”

“Too slow,” Alfor laughs. “You all move too slowly for me. You have to catch up faster than that.”

“Hotheaded,” Gyrgan teases.

The trip back to Daibazaal takes six vargas, even with the hyper-drive rocketing them through space. Zarkon tongues at the cuts on the inside of his mouth. An opponent had nearly knocked his teeth in, but at least that binary star system was free of those filthy scavengers. Some semblance of peace would be brought to the inhabitants. 

“Are you alright?” Alfor says as he pilots the cruiser towards their own growing quadrant of space. The empires, kingdoms, and republics were blossoming in this new era. No longer would the Polluxi, or any other invading force, hover over them like a dark cloud. 

Zarkon smiles over at his best friend. He never thought that he would have a close companion in the form of an Altean. 

The Emperor of Daibazaal nods from his seat at the navigation console. “Of course. Just happy to be heading home is all, my friend.”

“You really saved our skins back there,” Alfor continues.

“You would have done the same for me.”

It is an unspoken bond between them. They all would sacrifice a lot for each other, put their lives on the line for those they try to protect. 

“I would give my life for yours, brother,” Zarkon says, softly. Bitterness settles in his stomach. Alfor could have gotten hurt. Gyrgan, too. The Altean king had been the first to enter the cavern that was used for the scavengers’ last stand. Gyrgan had not let a tick pass before he barreled his way after Alfor. There was no way he nor Trigel and Blaytz would let them face their spindly enemies alone. 

“As I would do the same for you,” Alfor says, his grip tightening on the toggles of the steering gear. 

Zarkon chuffs gruffly, clearing his throat in embarrassment. 

“You should drop out of hyper-space,” Zarkon says. “We’re going to enter the system in five doboshes.” 

“Drop out of it now,” Trigel says from her own console at the communication unit. “You’ll overshoot the reentry. Again.”

Alfor sighs. “That was one time.”

Blaytz’s raucous laughter echoes on the small bridge of the cruiser. “It happens _every_ time. Are you kidding me?”

“How do you remember events so differently than how they actually occur?” Gyrgan asks, buckling into his seat as Alfor slides his hand down on the auxiliary thruster's controller.

“It’s a gift,” Alfor smiles.

For once, the Altean manages to make the reentry. 

Their solar system is large with a bright yellow dwarf as their sun. Then Altea, Nalquod, Rygnirath, the Dalterion Belt, Daibazaal – each containing its own satellites and colonies – as well as a single gas giant, two ice giants, and a smattering of dwarf planets. Even with their diverse species and majestic flora, their system is home to each of them. 

Alfor pilots them to Daibazaal and heads to the capitol of Drule before touching down on a landing pad near the fortress. They take the long walk to the great hall, eager for rest, relaxation, and food. It doesn’t last long.

They’re thirty doboshes into their meal, laughing and cracking jokes, when the floor begins to shake, when the air around the capitol whistles and thunders and roars. The impact of the comet leaves Zarkon restless for deca-phoebs to come.

\--

“Don’t be upset, but I invited my sister,” Alfor says, leading Zarkon into the laboratory near the impact site. The comet had been removed and transferred to a laboratory on Altea. But what is left behind is an ethereal gap streaming bright light and a stifling chill that has cracked apart the red rock and fertile soil of Daibazaal. 

“Which one?” Zarkon asks, mildly disinterested. “You have two, don’t you?”

Alfor nods, “Yes, but I’ve brought Honerva. She’s a better alchemist than me. She enjoys studying the multiverse theory and black hole cosmology. The concept of alternate realities as energy sources really interests her. Honerva will do better here at the crater than in the laboratory back on Altea.”

Zarkon won’t lie. He’s not very interested in alchemy. He’s more suited for statecraft and warfare.

“Well, I’ve evacuated everyone from the impact site. All the citizens that live on the outskirts of Drule have been relocated to the Desert Plains, the Highlands, and the city’s interior,” Zarkon recounts the events of the last fort-quint. “I’ve also brought in the military reserves from those regions’ central villages. And I’ve had to implement a ration protocol in case of… disaster.”

Alfor raises a thick, white eyebrow. “I’m sure nothing serious will happen, my friend. We’ve contained the crater and this laboratory facility has been fortified by Gyrgan’s mobile architecture-construction team. I will have to—”

“What is _that_?” Zarkon screeches, eyes blinking owlishly as he points down towards the black furry mass currently entwining itself around Alfor’s legs. 

“Calm down,” says a soft voice. “It’s just Kova. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Zarkon and Alfor both turn to see a young Altean woman giggling into one of her hands. 

Kova – or whatever that thing is – uncurls himself from around Alfor’s legs only to lope up to the woman and scamper up her outstretched arm. Kova perches himself on her shoulder, curling his sandy orange tail around her neck.

“Ah! You’re here!” Alfor smiles warmly.

“I was only at the crater site, not wandering around like you.” The woman rolls her eyes. “I brought back some samples,” she says, pointing over at the long table against the far wall. The two Alteans banter back and forth, but Zarkon ignores that in favor of drinking in the young alchemist. Her pale blue hair is pulled into a low chignon, her bangs sweeping across her forehead while two wavy strands frame her face on either side. She is slender in frame, so unlike Galran women. But her eyes are bright with eagerness. The Altean markings on her cheekbones are a pale red against her brown skin. A tender smile rises on her face like the sunlight that washes over the desert oasis he was so fond of during his childhood. Hot days spent basking under the warm starlight, clawed toes dipping into cooling fresh water. 

“Zarkon? Zarkon?” Alfor calls out, a knowing smirk on his lips. 

The Emperor of Daibazaal shakes his head, clearing himself of his distant memories. “W-what?”

“Were you not listening?” Alfor asks, shaking his head subtly. “Zarkon, this is Honerva. My younger sister.”

Still, Zarkon is mystified by the woman in front of him. His jaw remains open, his eyes focused entirely on her. 

“She’s here to lead the investigation while I return to Altea,” Alfor continues.

“Mhm,” Zarkon hums, biting on his lower lip. He knows his face is flushing and he needs to disentangle himself from this situation. Now.

“I am so excited to be working alongside you, Emperor,” Honerva says. “I believe the rift can lead to many discoveries pertaining to black hole cosmology and the theory I’m currently working on. It’s about the possible observation of parallel universes. Or at least I hope that I can prove the multiverse theory to the council back home with more concrete evidence.”

“W-well,” Zarkon stutters. “I will do what I can to aid you.” He nods tightly. “I must go. Alfor, I’ll see you at dinner.”

\--

The wedding of Emperor Zarkon and Princess Honerva is a quiet affair. Zarkon’s friends, Honerva’s family, and a few ambassadors and advisers are the only ones in attendance. Both Honerva and himself, thankfully, do not enjoy ostentatious fanfare. At the end of the night, Honerva presses Zarkon’s calloused hand to the slight swell of her belly. His cheeks flush when he feels the flutter beneath her soft skin, just below her navel. He will have an heir and then another and another, if only just to show how much he loves her.

\--

Allura is born six phoebs after Larka. Honerva busies herself in the laboratory, sending Zarkon and Larka to Altea to visit the new arrival in their growing family. She’s four vargas into her latest quintessence experiment of transferring electromagnetic pulses into a vibrating cylinder of the same energy, and testing for any reactions, when Fala sends her a message on her communicator. Honerva thumbs open the file. It’s a video of Amue sitting cross-legged with infant Larka and newborn Allura tucked against her shins: Larka is reaching out with a chubby hand, playing with one of the horns of the helm Allura wears. The cousins are giggling and gurgling spit bubbles.

Honerva’s thumb hovers over the delete glyph. 

There's a moment of hesitation and then the scientist saves it, a small smile flitting across her face. The video is a distraction, but a welcome one.

\--

Another child is born seven deca-phoebs later. When Zarkon feels the weight of his son in his arms, a tenderness washing over him, not unlike the first time he felt Larka. Zarkon strokes a thumb across the boy’s chubby cheek when he yawns sleepily.

“Name him Lotor, my love,” Honerva says softly, snuggling deeper into the sheets. This birth was more difficult than the first. 

_He’ll be a difficult boy,_ she thinks.

“Lotor,” Zarkon coos.

“He looks cute,” Larka says, standing on the bed with coltish legs and peering over her father’s broad shoulder. “Can we play now?”

Zarkon shakes his head. 

“He’s too young for the roughhousing you do with Allura,” Zarkon chides. 

Larka chuffs, melodramatically tossing herself onto the bed beside Honerva. 

“Boring,” she singsongs.

Zarkon watches with a smile as an exhausted Honerva pull their squirming daughter closer and attempts to fall asleep.

\--

There comes a time when things take a turn for the worse. 

“Honerva,” Alfor says, walking into the laboratory with Zarkon at his side. “Our sister worries that you haven’t visited her summer house enough.”

“I am busy,” Honerva grits out, peering through scope to stare down at the newest samples.

Her brother only sighs.

“Trigel will be taking the children for the oceanic equinox festival on Nalquod,” Zarkon prods, hesitantly.

“Mhm.”

“How is the recent experiment going?” Alfor finally asks, after sharing a knowing look with his friend.

Honerva’s ears perk up. 

“Well,” she smiles faintly. “The quintessence droplet has been running as scheduled.

“For a solid deca-phoeb?” Alfor inquires, eyebrows raised. “That’s incredible. Do you think we can implement this for our system-wide clean energy plan?”

“Naturally,” Honerva says, turning to them both. “I would also like to confer with Trigel about my latest experiment.” She points to another large glass cylinder where a black spore floats and twirls within its encasing. “I sent a probe into the rift to gather data. When I called back the probe, this reality creature returned instead.”

“What?” Alfor asks, unsmiling. “Honerva, you know that the council would not allow this? There are quarantine plans for situations like this. You can’t just—”

From within the cylinder, the black spore screeches wildly, spiraling outward before tangling itself in its own cloudy vapor. 

Alfor takes a deep breath. “You know nothing about this _creature_. You should have thought this through.”

Honerva cuts her deadly, serpentine gaze to him so quickly that her older brother must force himself to not reel back.

The laboratory doors swoosh open and Lotor waddles in, a sticky pastry held in his hand.

“Hey! Are you ready? Aunt Trigel is waiting!” Lotor whines around a mouthful of flaky pastry. 

Zarkon forces a smile. “We’ll be right there, son. Wait with Allura and Larka.”

Lotor rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

The doors shut behind him, but Alfor knows Allura and Larka are right outside, listening in after sending Lotor in to spy. These children remind him of his youth alongside Zarkon, roguish and mischievous. When all they had to worry about was warm spring days spent saving planets from scavengers. 

**

_“Alfor had always been interested in clean energy. He wanted the solar system to have a sustainable and renewable source,” Coran says. “It was one of his main goals. When Allura and Larka grew up to take more responsibility as their fathers’ heirs and the future leaders of Altea and Daibazaal, they spoke publicly of King Alfor’s goals. Even in quadrants that Alfor, Zarkon, Trigel, Gyrgan, and Blaytz had freed without Voltron.”_

_“Yet that era was not black and white for everyone,” Kolivan adds, looking over at Coran with an intensity so fierce that Pidge squirms in her spot. “King Alfor did not care about Emperor Zarkon’s imperialist motivations. He did not argue with his brother by law when he wanted to expand the Galran reach. He was content that Zarkon had ships and wished for more to help with additional conquests. He ignored the fact that Zarkon had set his gaze on the remnants of the Polluxi and sought to eradicate them from the known universe. This very planet – the colony of Gal – had been used as a Polluxi military base before Zarkon claimed it for his own.”_

_“But even with their plans and actions,” Coran continues, “it was Honerva who urged them forward. She pushed for new experiments through the rift, to see what those creatures had to offer to our reality.”_

_“From Larka’s own experiments with synthetic quintessence, it was obvious to many of us Blades that her mother had shared concepts about the quintessence with her. Lotor, himself, could have gotten his hands on additional notations,” says Kolivan, moving to sit in his seat with a clenched jaw._

_Coran sighs, heartfelt and weary. “Honerva was hungry to bring about an age of enlightenment to the solar system after so many deca-phoebs in the dark. She pushed her brother to experiment with the trans-reality comet. And as King Alfor had always been interested in the ore and what it could create since its arrival on Daibazaal, he sought to complete his own plans…”_

**

“They are made from the quintessence-infused ore,” Alfor says, smiling. “It had taken me a deca-phoeb to fully understand its properties, but it manages to supply an endless amount of clean energy and power to the beasts.”

Zarkon watches from his peripheral vision to see Blaytz taking slow, even steps towards the blue beast. His eyes are nearly glazed and wide as if lulled into a hazy trance.

“If you are feeling that pull… that psychic bond,” Alfor adds, his voice softer now and more breathless. “I found that one of the beasts was syncing with me, communicating with me on an entirely different plane.”

“Telepathy?” Trigel asks, taking her own first steps towards the green beast. Off to her side, Gyrgan is already pressing a bulky hand against the left front paw of the yellow one. 

Zarkon feels the first sweet caress of Black, coiling through his brain, swirling tenderly in his mind. The beast purrs, deep and soothing, pooling in his chest like warm rainwater in a parched desert. Saturated. Drenched. His head aches, steady strokes of the word _paladin_ filtering through his mind. 

Paladin.

It sounds better than Emperor.

\--

It happens during a humid summer in the city of Drule. The impact site has been sending out little tremors every now and then; only shown in the shaking of glasses during feasts or the brief stumble through a doorway before someone rights themselves and continues on with their duties. Honerva first notices in the black spore she keeps in the glass cylinder. It rockets within its container, screeching and growling, growing and shrinking. It spirals through the air like an angry beacon.

Honerva busies herself one evening with the children. Trigel’s wife, Inata, has come to visit, bringing foreign games and books and sweets from her last trip to a volcanic planet three quadrants away. Larka, Lotor, and a visiting Allura devour their candies before running through the gemstone garden atop the ramparts of the fortress. Amue takes over trying to wrangle them in before they trip and rip their clothes on a jagged stone.

Honerva furrows her eyebrows, the smile falling from her face, when she notices a luminescent vermilion stone spontaneously crack. The rumbling comes pouring over the city from the direction of the crater. Honerva and Inata rise from their seats, moving to grip the parapet railing.

“What is that?” Inata asks, her voice sultry in Honerva’s ears. 

Honerva swallows around the tightness in her throat. They have a perfect view of what is crawling its way from the rift and beneath the laboratory facility. With wide eyes, she watches the same creature from her cylinder morph and ooze, pulling itself together in a swirl of cobalt, violet, and navy black.

“What the quiznak is that?” Amue nearly screams, rushing over to them to look over the parapet and down to the crater. “Honerva, what is that?!”

Honerva’s mind blanks for a moment, the wind whipping against the fortress walls and up the side to tangle in a deluge of hot air. Humidity wraps around her throat, choking her with the sudden gusting smell of ozone. 

Behind them Lotor lets out a cry and Allura tries to hush him, pulling the boy close to her body as the earth quakes beneath them. By Inata’s side, Larka steps up onto the cushioned seat and grips the railing to get a better look. 

Honerva hears guards trying to get the children down from the roof and to safety. One grips Larka’s upper arm and pulls her off the seat. Honerva doesn’t miss her daughter’s wild-eyed gaze as she sees the creature ripping the nearest military base out of the red soil of Daibazaal. 

\--

Voltron saves them.

\--

“Seal the quiznaking rift, Honerva,” Alfor says, hands crossed over his chest with look of derision on his face. “We’ve talked about this. Over and over again. What just happened could have been prevented if that rift was shut.”

The laboratory is mostly unharmed. When the creature entered this reality, it managed not to crush the laboratory, but instead focused on the military outpost. 

_It is sentient,_ he thinks. _It can reason. It knew to attack where the weaponry was being held._

If they had not reached Daibazaal on time, the ramifications could have been catastrophic. What would have happened to them if the creature has turned its sights on the fortress? His daughter. His niece and nephew. His wife. Trigel’s wife. His sister. The population of the city of Drule. They could have all been lost.

“Honerva! Are you listening?” Alfor continues, raising his voice. “Close the rift. It nearly destroyed this planet.”

“That creature almost destroyed the planet,” Honerva says, tersely, snapping out of whatever reverie had enraptured her. “Voltron saved the planet. That rift has limitless opportunities.”

Alfor sighs, raking his hand through his hair and nearly yanking out a few strands. He turns to Zarkon.

“Please, talk some sense into her.”

Alfor sees the tension written on his friend’s face. He sees the disagreement that is about to occur. When Zarkon shouts him down, Alfor knows he’s lost him.

\--

“Are you ready, Larka?” Sendak asks gruffly, steering her out of the hall with a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’re late for the meeting on Rygnirath.”

Larka tries to catch one more glimpse of the pilot she caught staring with his goofy smile and sharp cheekbones. She turns away once they leave the hall and enter the corridor.

“The ambassadors and council shouldn’t schedule these events so close together,” Larka mutters under her breath. 

Sendak stiffens at her side as their retinue of council members, educators, and guards hurry them out of the building. 

“I’m meeting Allura on Rygnirath,” she continues. “You’re not needed for the coalition speeches.”

Sendak chuffs, his mocking laughter echoing in her ears. “Then who will keep an eye on you?”

“I don’t need you to keep an eye on me,” she says, as the guards usher them aboard the transport cruiser and they take their seats. “And before you make another asinine claim, I don’t need your protection either.” 

“You’ll be my wife soon and—”

“You’ll be Emperor of Daibazaal?” She interrupts, staring at the back of a sentry’s head. “That’s what you want, correct?”

When Sendak doesn’t say anything, Larka grits her teeth and faces him.

“I’d rather slit my throat with my own blade than have you sit beside me.” 

She glances at him with a satisfying smugness while his jaw clenches and his fur bristles, humiliated by her disdain. 

“You’re stressed and anxious. I understand that,” he mocks, placing a large hand against her smaller one that rests on the arm of the seat. Sendak squeezes it, gripping forcefully. “Empress Honerva’s experiments, Princess Allura’s mandatory summits, the rift… I understand, Larka, truly I do, but—”

Larka rolls her eyes, wrenching her hand from beneath his own. “Please, shut up for the duration of this trip. I’m begging you.” 

Sendak’s jaw twitches again and his hand curls against the arm of the seat. Thankfully he stays quiet for the remainder of the trip. 

The coalition meeting goes well. Gyrgan welcomes them with open arms, inviting them to a feast afterwards. When it’s all done, she says her goodbyes to Gyrgan and Allura. She hurries back to Daibazaal with Sendak hot on her heels. Larka finally loses him when she says she’ll be in her mother’s laboratory. 

Despite the peace, prosperity, and exploration that has been brought into being by Voltron, Larka still feels it is not enough. There is only so much that can be done by the coalition. Voltron is the Legendary Defender. Voltron protects the solar system, the nearest quadrants, and _now_ the known universe.

Larka finds her mother fast asleep, head slumped on the nearest table with her usual science equipment haloing her head. She feels the sudden urge to carry her mother off to bed, tucking her in and perhaps even locking her out of the laboratory while she’s at it. Her mother has slowly become consumed by her experiments, hardly seen in public and too capricious to hold a simple conversation with. Her hair has lost its natural luster and instead hangs limp in a tangle of pale blue streaked with white. 

Larka rummages in the nearest closet for her mother’s cloak and drapes it across the woman’s shoulders. She sweeps back Honerva’s hair and gently nudges her aside to read the notes scribbled on the datapad. A few equations, parameters, and regulations for the latest project. Larka’s eyes narrow at the blueprints below. It’s a four-pronged device within a contained circle and a diamond structure in the center. Scribbled in her mother’s slanted Galran script is the glyph for _extraction_. 

The young princess looks back in forth between the datapad and her mother. Larka shakes her head. Her mother is capable of many things, but something like _this_ is not one of them. 

It carries on for another two years. Until Larka can no longer take it. Her mother has succumbed to some sort of space madness. A darkness coils beneath the surface of Drule. Larka cannot stand to look at her mother with her paper-thin skin and the dark circles etched around her eyes. Gone is the vibrant juniberry of Larka’s youth, so friendly and warm. In her place is a thorny, drying blossom.

“They cannot be reached,” Alfor says in the gemstone garden. There’s a chilly breeze rolling in from the north. “They cannot be reasoned with right now. I am sorry.”

“I should have told you sooner,” Larka says, eyes burning. Her hands clench tightly to the railing as she looks out towards the crater, an arcane pockmark on Daibazaal’s surface from a time before she was born. “Mother hasn’t taken any of my messages since you left the laboratory.”

“Your mother…” Alfor trails off. “She can have a poor temper sometimes. It’s best to give her some space.” He sounds like he wants to say more. “I have to return, but why don’t you gather you and your brother and meet Allura at Fala’s home. It’s still summer in that hemisphere of Altea. You can enjoy being closer to the sun. Have some time away from…” His somber tone trails off. 

Larka swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. She’s too old to be crying over useless things like this. She nods shakily.

“Lotor and I will leave in the morning.”

~~

The room is silent for a moment. Pidge chews on her lower lip while Allura evades Shiro’s questioning glances. Hunk, himself, looks wholly uncomfortable, leaning back in his seat as Coran’s words settle over all of them. Lance is the only one who stands, pacing furiously. These are things they should have been aware of from the start.

“If King Alfor knew what was happening to Honerva… if he knew what was happening to Zarkon, why didn’t he do something sooner?” Lance asks, breaking the heavy silence that clouds the chamber.

“Zarkon’s goal, at that point, was an unlimited supply of ships and energy. A concrete way to protect, not just Daibazaal, but the solar system from any invading force,” Thace explains, straightforwardly, with arms crossed over his chest. “Empress Honerva wanted the unlimited knowledge of the trans-reality comet and the rift it created, untapped energy and all. She believed it would shape how we would look at the universe.”

“And King Alfor…” Coran says, voice breaking for just a moment. “Alfor wanted both, but realized the price was too high. It wasn’t worth the inherent corruption he had seen on his sister’s face. Zarkon and Honerva did not share that same vision with Alfor.” 

“So,” Hunk comments, tersely. “that’s probably when Alfor decided to send another science team out there looking for the second comet as some sort of backup plan.”

“What happened after that?” Shiro asks. 

“Father told me that Larka and Lotor were to be staying with our Aunt Fala for an impromptu holiday. But they never left the citadel on Altea when they arrived,” Allura mutters.

“After realizing her mother had fallen ill, Larka had intentions of bringing an Altean physician to Daibazaal to see her mother. Zarkon had accompanied his children to Altea where he asked his fellow paladins to help him finally seal the rift. However, that wasn’t his true intentions,” Coran pauses. “Voltron crossed into the rift to widen it in an attempt to reverse engineer the quintessence and use that to seal the rift for them. However, Zarkon sacrificed Honerva. The raw quintessence killed the two of them upon exposure.

“In the aftermath of the loss of Daibazaal’s leadership, Princess Larka was to ascend the throne immediately as Empress and take a seat on a proxy throne upon Altea. King Alfor would allow her to rule her people on his planet,” Coran continues. “Yet Larka, distraught and in mourning, had relinquished command of the Galra Empire and allowed her uncle to assume control.”

“She abdicated?” Hunk asks, brows furrowing.

“Not exactly,” Allura answers. “She had plans to abdicate, yes. She wanted my father to rule over her people until Lotor was of age to take the throne for himself. He only had three more years until he was an adult by Galran standards. Larka thought that would give him enough time to mature and become the diplomat their father instructed her to be.”

“Zarkon’s folly fractured Daibazaal even further,” Thace says, cutting off Allura’s tangent, “and the only way to seal it after the Emperor and Empress’ deaths was to destroy Daibazaal before the rift could rupture and corrupt the other planets. Whatever was in that other reality could have poured into this one.”

“King Alfor, assuming control, evacuated the planet and its people to the Altean homeworld and its colonies. He then destroyed the remnants of Daibazaal to protect the rest of the system,” Coran finishes, finally leaning back in his seat. Worn and weary. “As King Alfor and the rest of the paladins discussed what to do with the refugees of Daibazaal, Zarkon had been resurrected, revitalized yet corrupted by the quintessence.”

“Upon learning that Daibazaal was destroyed,” Kolivan says, noticing Coran’s tiredness, “he declared war on Altea and all of its people. Larka’s betrothed at the time smuggled Lotor and herself off of Altea to the Galra Empire headquarters that Zarkon had gathered after his resurrection. The war had been ongoing for two years, tearing apart families and destroying many of the colonies in not just our solar system but adjacent quadrants, too. No one was safe from the war.”

“What happened to the other paladins and Empress Honerva?” Matt prods, timidly.

Coran clears his throat, curling his mustache around his fingers before speaking. “As we all know now, Honerva must have been resurrected alongside Zarkon and took on the position as his High Priestess Haggar. Blaytz, however, was publicly executed during a skirmish on Nalquod. Trigel, who had been there, was sent to a work camp on one of the dwarf planets. She was later freed by Gyrgan and a troop of Dalterionish and Rygnirathi rebels. 

“On the last days before the death of Altea, it was tumultuous. Everyone felt that something was going to change. We were losing traction in the war. There was infighting and a collapse in control of the Dalterion Belt. Zarkon had steadily taken over the main homeworld and he had claimed many Dalterionish military installations that were speckled throughout the Belt. Nalquod was nearly claimed entirely. He was taking over the solar system. And that’s when Larka had contacted me wishing for an audience with King Alfor.” 

“Larka claimed that her father was planning to assault Altea to take Voltron or destroy Altea entirely. Many of us, who ran in the same social circles whether by our studies or professions, did not fully believe her. But Zarkon had begun culling out his own ranks, destroying the weak. Thace and I helped her get to Altea where she could properly plead her case,” Kolivan adds.

With watery eyes, Allura stands. “And that’s when my father decided to scatter the lions.”

Coran nods. “Before we were put in sleep pods, they had managed to hide away the Lions of Voltron, but not without casualties. Princess Larka and Queen Amue managed to escape unscathed, but on their way back to the system, President Trigel and Chancellor Gyrgan were killed. Enraged by losing the lions and the destruction of Daibazaal, Zarkon killed King Alfor and destroyed Altea as retribution.”

“So, that’s what Lotor wants to do?” Pidge states rhetorically. “He wants to cross over to these alternate realities, these parallel universes, and siphon out the purest quintessence?”

“But why?” Hunk asks. “To finish his mother’s research?” 

“Why doesn’t he just do what Keith’s mom is doing,” Lance starts, “and focus on making a synthetic, alternative fuel?”

“Yeah,” Matt adds. “One where you don’t have to destroy a planet to do so.”

“Maybe he wants to reverse engineer it,” Pidge mutters under her breath.

“Their intentions were noble in the beginning,” says Kolivan. “Honerva, Zarkon and Alfor wanted the same things. Peace. Exploration. Safety for all those who lived in our star system. It’s admirable, but Lotor knows the consequences of his actions, of his mother’s actions. If he is unwilling to seek reason above his own ambitions, he is worse than what Honerva could have imagined for her own self.” 

Thace scrubs on one of his ears. It twitches at the harsh, nervous movement. 

“Pidge, you asked what this has to do with your father,” he starts.

“Thace,” Kolivan chuffs, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Kolivan mentioned that Zarkon had been culling his ranks, destroying weakness and fortifying his regime. What made Larka rush to aid King Alfor was what her father did to a Galran council member at a meeting. Commander Pyketh had his skull crushed at the very table she sat at, just for voicing his opinion no matter how divisive it was. Pyketh had alluded to the fact that there was an Altean colony outside our star system who did not believe Alfor could protect them because of dwindling resources and their distance from the Altean homeworld.

“Zarkon may have killed Pyketh in front of Larka, Lotor, and the entire war council, but he did heed Pyketh’s words and took those Altean colonists. Your father may have been one of those colonists or a descendant because they were inducted immediately into the druids’ order.”

An unsettling feeling broils in Pidge’s belly, liquid hot and sloshing. What does that mean? Does her dad still work for Haggar? As she tries to slip out of her seat, she feels Matt’s eyes on her. She needs to hear this, she needs to understand these puzzle pieces. But she needs some fresh air and some much needed quiet.

“And it wasn’t just Altean colonies,” Dorma pipes up from her seat. “After Daibazaal was lost, there were still many Alteans who had been living on the Galran homeworld. Many of them were alchemists and sages that were at Honerva’s side, aiding her during her experiments and the construction of her ships and technology. If anything were to happen to her, or her children, they would have rallied under her command rather than her brother’s leadership.”

“Many of those quintessence-corrupted Alteans could be the druids we fight today,” says Coran. “Perhaps any Dalterionish, Rygnirathi, and Nalquodians could have been involved, too.”

“I was really resistant to what Dad had to tell me. I didn’t want to know what the hell he was planning or who they were. I was tossed between different construction sites and one of them looked like a Teludav prototype,” Matt says, shrugging. “But now that we know that Lotor was after one of the lens, it reaffirms what I thought. They could be working for Lotor. Maybe our dad is working alongside them to bring back what the empire was before Zarkon—”

“Before Zarkon became obsessed with taking control of Voltron,” Shiro finishes. “Everything Commander Holt told me was really crazy, but we now know that Lotor doesn’t care at all about the Lions. He was testing us, figuring out whether we were a worthy opponent, but he often loses interest in battle. It would make sense if he has his own scientists helping him in his plans to siphon out quintessence and how he got access to a clone. But Holt and those druids… they know that Keith is Zarkon’s grandson. They call him by his title, by his Galran name, and they still consider Larka to be heir apparent. He knows that Larka is one of the Blades, that she and Kolivan founded the Blade of Marmora. I don’t know if they want her on the throne instead of Zarkon or that they’d rather back Lotor's claim, but I’m positive that they knew that Keith was on Earth the entire time.”

Another cacophony of shouts and raised voices, disbelief percolating in Pidge’s ears. 

“How did Commander Holt get on Earth? How did an Altean get on Earth?” Lance.

“Is he the only one?” Hunk. 

More of the voices begin to blend together. 

“How does he know about Keith?” Allura. Frantic. Skittish. 

“W-what about the Blue Lion?” Pidge’s voice sounds distant and strange in her own ears. Like she’s outside her body, observing, watching herself shatter even more. The phantom pains throb down her sides and she feels Green attempt to sooth her with gentle purrs. 

Shiro stands, planting his hands firmly on the edge of the table. 

“Commander Holt and his druids were trying to find the perfect alien specimen. They chose Earth. For the past thirty years, they’ve been trying to finish their experiments… even allowing Haggar to use some of them like the clones. Holt was trying to use my dad, but when he got sick and their plans failed, he turned his attention to me. That’s why we had been taken by the Galra on the Kerberos mission. Zarkon was getting too close to the Blue Lion and they had to move their experiments before they were found to be working outside Haggar’s limitations.”

“I knew it. Iverson literally let us steal Shiro from under his nose and then had no problem that we just took a flying space lion robot out of a bunch of rocks and blasted into outer space,” Hunk says, furiously rubbing his palms into his closed eyes.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Pidge asks. She has her answers. Now, she needs to protect her friends and family. The ones that are in this room. They can deal with Earth later, they can’t do much for it now. Earth had already been invaded.

“All the information we know from our time on the Kuron bases, we’ve already shared with Kolivan and Coran… and now all of you,” Shiro says, raking a hand through his hair. “But because we don’t know where Holt’s loyalties lie and what Lotor’s endgame is, we need to get Keith and his mother out of Imperial hands. Now.”


	15. A Path Forward

The hilt of his blade bites into the padding of his armored glove. It’s not like _his_ blade, the one his mother left for him on Earth. This one is too heavy and worn, saddled with its own lethargy. Keith bets Lotor rigged their sparring match. Sweat beads at the edge of his hairline, streaking down to drench his brows. He hastily wipes his forehead. 

“Sloppy,” Lotor says, cracking his neck as he moves back. “You are agile. I will give you that, paladin, but you’re too quick to anger.”

 _Paladin._ The word sounds bitter coming from Lotor. It settles in Keith’s stomach like sour milk. He’s not a paladin anymore. But he won’t deny that he misses the weight of a bayard in his hand and the feel of a Lion’s controls beneath his fingers. 

“You need to assess your opponent completely, efficient but quick,” Lotor continues, mockingly. “Is this what those rebels are teaching you? Stabbing the air in hopes of hitting something?”

Keith gnashes his teeth together, hand squeezing tight to the hilt of his sword. He may not be a paladin anymore, but he knows what his destiny is now. He’s always felt on the outside looking in, struggling to find what he was supposed to be doing with this life he’d been given. He knows now. He was always destined to join the Blade of Marmora. Larka and Thace made sure of that when they left him on Earth. He would destroy Zarkon’s reign even if that meant infiltrating Lotor’s ranks to get there.

A brief smile crosses over Lotor’s face. 

“Did I strike a nerve?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Your expressions are very easy to read.”

Keith, once again, clenches his teeth before charging at Lotor. The weight of the sword slows him down, but Lotor manages to dance away, parrying the strike. Lotor has been egging him on, forcing him to take the offensive. Perhaps it’s time to take the defense for himself. Keith’s mind spirals. _“You should control your countermoves. Your offensive tactics are good, but your defensive maneuvering could use some work,”_ Ulaz had said before offering to spar. That was a long time ago. Since then, Keith had refocused his training on defensive tactics. Keith grins to himself. Lotor like his mind games. Fine.

“Why do you hate your father so much?” Keith asks, wandering back to his original spot. Lotor has been taking the lead throughout their match. It’s time his mouthy uncle attacks first.

Irritation flashes across Lotor’s eyes, disappearing just as fast as it had arrived.

“How long did it take for you to screw up?” Keith prods, swiveling his sword in an arc before taking a defensive stance. “You looked pretty nervous when we had to see him.”

Lotor’s hand tightens on his own sword. 

“Was that before or after you knew you had to get off that war ship?” Keith asks. “It really sucks, Lotor. You failed him, then you fail your own personal mission.” Keith knows he’s now overstepping. This isn’t going to get him into Lotor’s good graces, but he’s tired of having things happen to him. A lick of heated satisfaction traces up his spine and for once he feels like he has the upper hand.

Keith anticipates, putting all his training with Ulaz to the test. Lotor lunges forward, only taking two steps, and strikes down. Raising his heavy sword, Keith blocks him, lunging forward with a parry. Lotor forcefully stumbles back, but regains his footing only to start a series of slashing attacks. Even as the heavy sword is not suited for close combat such as this, Keith prods at the crumbling psyche of the prince. He deflects each hit with a circular parry and a barbing taunt.

Though he manages to keep up with Lotor’s feints, Keith would feel better with a blade in each hand. In a fit of frustration, Lotor begins his slashing and beating anew, but Keith continues to deflect and parry smoothly. He follows through with another lunge. Ducking, Keith bashes his elbow into Lotor’s side, sending the prince sprawling across the floor.

A shudder of victory tickles at the back of his head. He wants to whoop and holler, but he tenses when Lotor stands up on shaky legs. His usual sleek hair is a mess, forehead slick with sweat. He looks bewildered that Keith bested him. 

With a ragged breath, Lotor says, “Well done, paladin. You’re quick to assess me and your agility is superb.”

Keith is caught off guard when Lotor suddenly lunges. He has no way to backpedal in time, no way to sidestep before Lotor strikes him with an uppercut. Hot pain splashes across his jaw and cheeks like boiling water. Keith reels back, staggering on his feet before landing on his back. 

A grizzly smile darts across Lotor’s angular features. “But you still have a lot to learn. You should go find your mother. Let Larka nurse your wounds.”

The prince leaves Keith sprawled on the ground, spitting a gob of blood onto the dark gray training mat. His teeth still rattle in his mouth and he tongues at each of them, just to remind himself that he is still whole. Keith takes a deep breath, wincing at the tender feeling radiating in his jaw. Gingerly, he rises from the floor, leaving the sword by his feet. 

“Quick to assess,” he mocks Lotor’s words under his breath. “You just got called out on your bullsh—”

“Now, paladin,” Lotor interrupts, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “I’ll escort you myself.”

Keith follows Lotor down the strange hallways of the Deadzone. An old, twisted space station built into a dilapidated asteroid belt in some shadowy quadrant of space. He took the first few vargas to map out the station as best as he could. It was difficult to do it with Acxa, licking her own wounds from Lotor’s verbal beating, leading them through the corridors. They had left Larka at the laboratory where she would be performing experiments that Lotor signed off on. Keith’s own job aboard the station seemed unknown. Was he Lotor’s apprentice? Whipping boy? A hostage in order to control Larka? 

“What _are_ you trying to accomplish here? You keep talking as if what you’re doing will help everyone?” Keith fills in the silence of the hall. “You only seem selfish when push comes to shove.”

Lotor chuckles. 

“Why did you need the lens?” Keith presses.

“Why else would I need a Teludav lens?” Lotor answers. They’re nearing the science sector and Keith still hasn’t gotten any actual answers. “When I was a boy, Larka would stay with our mother. Dabbling in whatever experiment they were attempting to complete. They weren't anything serious, but our father actually hated the fact that Larka was interested in science,” Lotor pauses. “Or at least that’s how it appeared to me. Every now and again, my mother and sister would let me accompany them on the few field expeditions they went on together. They’d let me watch their work in the laboratories, even let me partake in a few experiments. It interested me.”

Keith scrutinizes Lotor with his angled nose and lips pressed together in a tight smile. 

“I suppose it still interests me.” 

More fucking riddles. Keith almost sighs aloud. 

“We’re here,” Lotor says, gesturing to the door to a private laboratory. He presses his hand against the identification pad and then thumbs in the passcode sequence. “I apologize for the extra precautions, but I can’t have the two of you wandering through my halls. I know what the Blade of Marmora does.”

Keith rolls his eyes. He enters the laboratory by himself, doors closing behind him. He hears Lotor lock him in and the soft steps as he leaves. Keith lets out a breath of relief. Being away from Lotor is a reprieve, at least for right now.

“When did you get here?” A voice startles him out of his brief moment of quiet.

“What?” he stutters, turning to see his mother standing by a cabinet, her hands buried in a container of wires. 

Her eyes narrow, zeroing in on his face. Slipping her hands from the container, Larka takes the few steps towards him, letting her fingers trace beneath his chin and across his jaw. Keith winces at the tender warmth of his skin, the bruises beginning to bloom like violets.

“I assume you got this while sparring,” she says, almost monotone. Before he can respond, she continues. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m trying—” he starts, but stops when she puts a little pressure on the bruising. He hisses, exhaling a sharp breath. 

She chuffs absentmindedly before heading to another cabinet. 

“Someone should have taken you to the infirmary,” she says, more to herself than to him. She uncorks an unlabeled container and gestures for him to come to her.

Dragging his feet and anticipating the scolding, Keith grumbles. Larka scoops up a bit of the blue-glowing, healing salve and smears the sweet-smelling cream across the bruise. “It will help with the inflammation.”

Keith’s skin tingles as the salve works into his lavender flesh. 

“He’s trying to get under my skin,” Larka chuffs, recapping the small pot of salve. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Why are you so angry about this? He’s letting me in.”

Larka raises an eyebrow in question. Doubtful.

“I thought we were here to infiltrate,” he continues. “He’s hand-delivering us information. He takes us from Zarkon’s war ship and sits us on one of his major outposts. How many Blades have had this opportunity to figure out what Lotor’s doing.”

“He probably knows that already,” Larka says, storing the salve pot into the emergency cabinet before strolling back to the wiring box. She loops a few short wires over her shoulder before heading to the main worktable. Keith is quick on her heels. “You have to be careful around him, Kythel. I spent most of my childhood trying to protect him, only for him to turn around and order multiple assassination attempts on my life after Zarkon destroyed our home star system. Lotor is dangerous and until he proves himself to me: I don’t trust him. Not with you.”

Keith looks down at the floor, scrutinizing the gray panels, his gaze flickering. 

“Assassinate you? Thace…” Keith struggles to grapple with her words. “Dad and you didn’t tell me about that.”

“Because it’s in the past,” Larka sighs. “What’s done is done and we’re still standing. That’s what matters.”

“If we’re going to work together,” Keith says, looking back up, “we’re going to have to know everything. I can’t have doubts about you, Mom. Or the Blades or the Team. I-I need to know… I can’t think that you, of all people, are keeping things from me.” Keith swallows around the ball of heat in his throat, suffocating. His chest throbs when she moves to take his cheek in her hand. 

“You don’t have to protect me all the time. If I’m going to train as a Blade, I don’t want preferential treatment,” Keith says. “Let’s just work together.” 

Larka purses her lips. “You’re right, son. There’s a lot of things that we need to tell you, but it will have to wait until we’re back home. For now, let’s make this communicator to get in contact with the others.”

Keith lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding in for ages. He had always been content talking to his adopted father, Mick. He was always comfortable and happy sharing his feelings. It wasn’t until he was put in the foster care system that he started isolating himself, compartmentalizing his emotions, unwilling to share with the families he bounced around in for weeks at a time. Now, he feels himself unfurling, uncoiling that bitterness, allowing himself to open up more and not just with Team Voltron. 

He wonders if the Blade of Marmora can replace what he lost back on Earth.

~~

Haggar’s upper lip curls in a harsh snarl. The facility is ruined. Not only were the tanks purged of their clones, but the quintessence lines circulating through the upper chambers of the laboratory had been backed up. A fire had erupted, filtering through the laboratory until all that was left was charred capsules, broken glass, and ashes. It stinks of burnt flesh, meat, and chemicals. The thick sultry smell of quintessence fills her nose and Haggar struggles to keep from gagging.

“High Priestess?” A druid prods.

_That spiteful child._

“High Priestess Haggar?” Again.

_These weapons— Everything is ruined, Honerva._

“High Priestess?”

The back of her throat tickles, and she hiccoughs into her balled fist. 

_“Honerva?”_ Childish laughter. Sugary pastries. Rough lips against hers. Juniberry cocktails and pink sandy beaches. The smell of petrichor breezing through an open window of a sterilized laboratory. 

Haggar stills, turning to look at the druid. “What did you just say?”

“High Priestess, we received the report in the past varga.”

“And?” Haggar grimaces, one of her hands clenching tightly to the sleeve of her shroud.

“Prince Lotor seemed to have smuggled Princess Larka and Prince Kythel off the dreadnought in secret,” the druid recites. “He misled the sentries who were sent to escort the princess to your personal suite.”

“And the sentries?” Haggar asks, cryptically.

“Deactivated, High Priestess,” the druid admits, “and their overseeing officer has been… executed as you ordered.” A slight pause. “But that is not all. Prince Lotor has also taken custody of Sendak. Two of the prince’s general were seen near the arena’s barracks a few doboshes before Sendak vanished.”

Hot rage laces through her belly, churning and broiling as she stares at the blackened remains of the laboratory. Haggar turns around, hearing the whisper of her subordinate’s robes against the metal floor.

“Haggar, what are your orders?” the druid asks, almost struggling to keep up with Haggar’s fast pace as she leaves.

“I need to speak with our Emperor about our next move,” Haggar says, walking through the chilly corridors. “We need to find out what Lotor and his sister are planning. And if that means inviting the boy back home, so be it.”

When she arrives at the dreadnought's throne room, she recites the same words to Emperor Zarkon. Even with her head spinning and throbbing with an impending migraine, unease swirling in the pit of her stomach. 

“Invite Lotor back? Under the guise that we need to collaborate?” Zarkon cocks his head to the side, interlacing his fingers together as his elbows rest on the arms of his throne. 

The chill of the room makes her shiver. The expanse of space behind him, whorls of black void and a bramble of a red-purple nebula, imprinting in her mind’s eye.

“Yes, Sire,” Haggar croaks, strangled as she tries to keep the contents of her belly inside. “With the appropriate questioning we could gain the answers we need. Perhaps pulling—”

“Tell him to bring his sister along,” Zarkon orders. “Make whatever negotiations necessary. I want to know why those two are working together. And I want the paladin, Haggar.”

Her hands itch anxiously, desperate to hear him say the name: _“Honerva?”_

~~

Larka spends the majority of the night and the better part of the next quintant hacking into Lotor’s system after finishing up the communicator and masking the signal from outside interference. In between those two efforts, the Blade works on the assigned experiment Lotor left with her. Working through her synthetic quintessence theory, all the while purposefully leaving gaps in the information she documents. If he wants her work so badly, he’ll have to decode the mess she’ll leave with him. She spent the last twenty deca-phoebs trying to recreate a stable synthetic energy; she wasn’t going to hand over all the progress she made in her laboratory at Marmora headquarters.

Thumbing through the nearest terminal, Larka takes approximately forty-three doboshes to hack her way through some of the major files, searching for some evidence to what Lotor is trying to accomplish. It’s during her break after refining a mock trial of the quintessence when she thumbs through one specific folder. A list of names and a collection of holograms. Scientists. Alchemists. Druids. At least fifty names and images, complete with documentation of their place of origin and their focal studies. Cloning. Bionics. Elemental transmutation. 

“Lotor has his own team of druids?” she asks aloud. Larka furrows her eyebrows, deepening her frown lines. But where are they? She hadn’t seen any druids in the Deadzone, but then again, Lotor keeps her in this laboratory and only has one of his generals escort her to meals or to her assigned suite. But she struggles to hear the whispers through the void. There are no open channels for the druids to speak through, no one whispers through the darkness. The silence is almost stifling in the Deadzone. 

Taking a deep breath, Larka continues deeper into the rabbit hole that is her brother’s project. The next file package she hacks into includes a series of videos. It sets her teeth on edge as she sees hologram footage of Shiro’s clone. Reports of the Blade of Marmora's actions. Reports of Voltron’s whereabouts. By the sixth video, the clone has a clear face of unease.

Had he been having doubts? 

_“Keith… I-I can’t do this to him…”_

_“You’ll do as you’re told,”_ said General Ezor, tone honeyed but still like serpent’s venom.

Larka’s palms sweat beneath her thin gloves.

The doors open behind her and she hastily minimizes the windows.

“It’s just me,” Keith says, dropping a large weapon at the door. “Lotor wants me to bring this to our room, practicing in the den or something stupid like that.”

Larka rolls her eyes. “Who escorted you this time?”

“Narti,” he answers. “She’s quiet. Eerie to be honest. Anyways, what are you up to now?” Keith sidles up next to her.

“Refining a botched batch of synthetic,” she points to the chugging machine on the adjacent table, “and I think I found some information.”

Keith leans over her shoulder as she tabs open the files again. 

“Like what?”

“Well, Lotor seems to have a team of scientists working for him. Most of them are druids… probably all of them. However, I don’t think they are here. I would be able to sense them if they were, which leads me to believe that they may be at a second location.”

“Could you find out the coordinates?” Keith asks. 

“I could,” she says, “but it will take a while.”

Keith squeezes her shoulder through her uniform. “Awesome, Mom.”

Larka inclines her head. “That’s not all. It looks like Lotor used the clone to infiltrate Voltron. There’s data on the Blade of Marmora. He must have managed to get to the Record. There’s all sorts of reconnaissance mission reports. But there’s also data on Voltron: where you all were, coordinates for the Balmeran refugee camp, our science base outposts.”

“Holy crow,” Keith murmurs, nudging his mother’s hand away to scroll through the files himself. “The clone did this after I found him?”

Larka’s eyes soften. “Kythel, that isn’t your fault. None of us knew.”

“Yeah, but he’s my boyfriend. I should have—”

“Kythel, do not berate yourself on this. Any of us would have thought the same if it was our mates. Robeasts aren’t the only experiments the druids partake in. Clones would be the perfect weapon to target us. They just so happened to have had Shiro.”

His mother means well, but it does nothing to settle his nerves.

“We should get dinner,” Keith says, taking a deep breath. 

Larka smiles warmly. “Of course. I just need to set the portable refinery to automatically stop after two vargas.” 

“I’ll message Lotor so he can—” Keith stops as a sharp pinging noise sounds off in the air. Larka whips around, eyes locking with him. “The communicator?”

Another sharp ping followed by some static. Larka and Keith race over to the corner of the laboratory where they stashed the hidden communicator.

“-llo… -ello… Hello… is there… there anyone out there?”

“Is that…?” Larka whispers.

Keith toggles open the frequency. “Pidge?!”

“-eith! Keith! Holy crow! It’s Keith! I got him!”

He swivels the dial for a better connection.

“Pidge!” he shouts.

“Quieter, Kythel,” Larka hushes.

“Keith? Is your mom there?” Pidge’s excited voice comes crackling through the machine. “This is so awesome! I knew you’d figure something out! And I totally knew that I could reach you! Oh my god… but where are you? Do know exactly where you are?”

“We’re at one of Lotor’s bases,” Keith says.

“One of?” Pidge asks, hesitantly.

“He may have multiple ones,” Larka answers. “This place is called the Deadzone.”

“The Deadzone?” Pidge’s voice wavers. “Sounds ominous.”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Keith says, sharing a look with his mother. “We don’t know the coordinates. Everything is pretty hush-hush around here. I’m feeling as if we’re more like prisoners than anything else.”

“It will be difficult to get off the base,” Larka adds. “We’re escorted everywhere.”

“Crap! Okay, we can do this,” Pidge exclaims. “Listen, Shiro is coming up with a plan to extract the both of you.”

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is garbled, strangled, his eyes watering. “What do you mean Shiro? Pidge, you can’t trust him! You have no idea what we found when we were with Zarkon.” 

“I-I can’t explain right now,” Pidge says, static crackling through her voice. “But we’ve got that sorted. We found the real Shiro. He’s safe, Keith.”

Larka watches as Keith takes a deep breath, slow and uneasy, as if he doesn’t quite trust what Pidge is saying. Her child is strong and agile with a gentle heart. But how much more of this can he take? She places her palm against the back of his hand, squeezing gently, transferring some small comfort to him. 

“Pidge,” Larka says, taking over as Keith mulls over his friend’s words. “We’ll leave the communicator to ping our location back to you. You’re using the entanglement amplifier, correct?”

“Yeah,” Pidge answers, “I found it in your lab. Took some time. We’re going to have to reorganize the one on Gal for you.”

“Gal?” Larka’s eyes widen. “W-wha—?”

“We retook it!”

“What?” Larka and Keith shout. Keith takes a brief look behind them, peering around the corner of a worktable to check that the door is still secure.

“What are you talking about?” Keith asks.

“You haven’t heard?” Pidge’s voice crackles again, excitement bleeding through the audio. “I thought you would have heard something since you might have been at Galra HQ. Yeah, we took it back. The rebels have been using it. Some of the Blades have relocated there.”

“That’s why it was chaos before we found the clones,” Larka says quietly.

“Clones?!” Pidge sputters. “There’s more than just the one?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Keith grits out. “For now, Mom’s right. We’ll let the communicator ping back so you can find us. While we wait, we’ll keep on collecting data to report.”

“Okay,” Pidge says, tersely. “We’ll contact you again when we’re close by.”

The door of the laboratory slides open. Larka hastily changes the settings on the communicator, so that Pidge can only hear what is going on. 

“Princess Larka?” General Acxa.

“Finish speaking with her,” Larka mutters under her breath, before scrambling up and heading over to the main area of the laboratory.

“What were you doing?” Acxa asks, eyes narrowed.

“Kythel was helping me clean something up,” Larka swallows, reaching over to one of the work tables and wiping her gloved hands on a spare cloth. “What does Lotor need?”

Acxa looks over to where Larka appeared from, her gaze slowly traveling back and forth. 

“ _Prince_ Lotor wishes to speak with you, privately,” Acxa orders. 

Larka grimaces, placing the cloth down. “Alright, well, let’s go.”

Acxa’s gaze suspiciously wanders once more. “Yes. We shouldn’t be late.” With one last look, Acxa leads Larka out.

Keith lets out another breath of relief. That was too close for comfort.


	16. Homecoming

There may have been a time when Lotor had been too distracted. A time where he struggled to decipher the worth of what he desired and whether it was for the greater good. Had he been selfishly ambitious throughout his journeys while in self-exile? Had he thought himself better than what his father had established? Was he more earnest than his sister and more intelligent than his mother? Did he reach too far for the stars and forget to keep his feet planted, rooted deep in the fruitful soil of Daibazaal? Did he burn bridges all too quickly, eager to spread his wings and set out on his own? Did he forget where he came from?

The sound of the door opening pulls him from his reverie. Sendak stands stonily by the doorway when Acxa walks in, closely followed by Larka. Lotor narrows his eyes. No, he didn’t forget where he came from. Everywhere he looks he sees the faces of his family, his father’s people, and the residual band of Alteans. The question still pulsates in his head, but he shoves down that damp petty sensation of chronic ennui.

“How goes the experiment?” Lotor asks, a white eyebrow raised in question as he appraises his sister’s stature. She doesn’t look as exhausted as she did while on the dreadnought. A change in scenery could do that to a person. Larka’s eyes rove over his quarters. They look just as similar as his room on the dreadnought and the sparse one at Central Command: utilitarian and sparingly furnished with the standard fixtures of the Empire. His uniform may be different, but Galra architecture is useful. He wonders if the Marmora base is similar.

Larka’s gaze flickers once to the statuesque figure of Sendak before looking at Lotor.

“Why is he here?” she asks. 

Lotor rolls his eyes, taking a few steps to sit at his desk. “Bodyguard? Lover? I don’t really care.” Happiness saturates him like sunshine, especially when he sees Sendak stiffen with a tense jaw and curling fists. What does it feel like to be subjugated like this? It’s about time his father’s men see what it’s like on the other side.

“But the experiment, sister? How goes it?”

There’s a lift at the corner of her lips, as if she’s mildly entertained by the mere prospect of their father’s men getting what they deserve now. The commanders didn’t take long to start squabbling among themselves like entitled children desperately searching for a throne. Perhaps he can make an alliance with these spies and terrorists. 

Lotor’s mouth grows dry and he hastily wipes his clammy palms on his thighs. _That’s a fantasy for us,_ Lotor thinks, harsh and distant. There is too much bad blood between them for any sort of alliance to blossom. 

“Decent,” Larka says. “However, there was a problem with a chemical compound I was attempting to refine. The quintessence that you have access to… it isn’t like what I have ever used before. We had a spill.”

There’s something in her voice. Tension. Eagerness? He struggles to figure it out.

“It’s been cleaned up, I assume,” he states.

Larka nods. 

Lotor runs his tongue over his front teeth in skepticism. “I also assume you wish to ask about the quintessence I have on this base. It’s experimental. That is why I needed fresh eyes to examine it.”

He’s prodding, waiting for her to slip up. He will get the answers he needs. The construction of the portal is almost complete and Larka’s expertise would be an advantage.

“Leave us,” he says, addressing both Acxa and Sendak. 

“Of course, Prince Lotor,” Sendak says, just as Acxa utters: “Are you sure you can trust her, Prince Lotor?”

Lotor grins, wide and childlike. 

“I trust Larka,” he sighs. “Now please give us some privacy.”

Sendak nearly races from the room, while Acxa reluctantly trudges her way out. 

“Ask what you want,” he says when the doors shut, and the room falls silent.

“Where did you get that batch of quintessence from?” Larka doesn’t waste time, crossing her arms over her chest. He’s almost reminded of when they were younger, when she’d catch him doing something that their mother would surely yell at him for. 

“I went through some of Mother’s research that she managed to get out before Daibazaal’s untimely doom,” Lotor explains. “She had sent a few probes into the rift to drain some of the energy out, but they didn’t make it through. After King Alfor had created the Lions, Mother had managed to rope at least one foreign scientist into her insane efforts. President Trigel had helped Mother with a few experiments, specifically one to take samples of the energy out of the rift. The only way to do that was to—”

“—use one of the Lions to travel through the rift,” Larka finishes, pressing her lips into a tight line. 

Lotor inclines his head and smiles. “Exactly.”

“Why would she go to Trigel? Did Father know about this?”

“She needed someone who worked outside the jurisdiction of the Altean Alchemists’ Union and the Royal Council. Using Trigel to retrieve the samples was probably the best solution for her with Alfor breathing down her neck.” Lotor watches Larka with a cool gaze. Her brows are furrowed as she chews on her lower lip. 

“And Father?”

“Mother had those samples transferred off-world soon after,” he continues. “It took me a while to research their locations, but I’m assuming that he didn’t know. No Imperial soldiers had been there to stand guard at the depot facilities.”

“And she just forgot when she became Haggar?”

Lotor shrugs.

“Convenient for you,” Larka mocks. 

Lotor laughs softly. “I’ve heard your Blades have gained traction and Kolivan took back Gal with the help of the paladins. Congratulations! It seems we both hold the upper hand over Father.”

Wariness flickers across her face before she schools her features once more.

“So, what do you plan on doing? Restart Mother’s plans? Open a rift and siphon out quintessence for your own use?” Larka asks. 

Lotor’s fists clench once more before resting them on the arms of his chair. 

“You’ve seen what happens,” Larka says, voice rising in pitch. “You’ve seen what they’ve become, what they’ll do to maintain power. What they do if they perceive they’ve been slighted. And you’d wish that upon yourself? On everyone?”

“I’m doing what Honerva couldn’t accomplish,” Lotor says, anger leaking into his words. “She reached so far without the assistance of others. That is why I asked for your help. I can’t do this without—”

“I’m not going to help you split a hole into the quiznaking void,” she interrupts, “so you can be the number one seller of quintessence to the known universe.”

“That’s not my plan,” he grits his teeth.

“Then what is it?” she ponders aloud. “Immortality? Unlimited firepower against Father’s forces and who cares what happens to the civilians—?”

“You and your ilk have sat back in the shadows and allowed his regime to draw breath,” Lotor shouts, nearly leaning across the table. “If you could have taken him down, you would have done it by now. There’s nothing noble about your ideology. All it has caused is fearmongering and weakness.”

Larka almost vaults across the desk to wrap her hands around his throat, only to halt at the humming of Ezor’s plasma gun. His general’s camouflage cloaking recedes, and a coquettish smirk climbs her face. Larka clenches her teeth, chuffing under her breath.

“That’s not very nice, Princess,” Ezor singsongs, playfully. 

“Lower your weapon, Ezor,” Lotor says, raising his hand. “I apologize. I was the one who incited this reaction.”

Ezor reluctantly holsters her weapon when Larka finally takes a step back. 

“Uncle Alfor wanted clean energy,” Lotor says, straightening up in his seat. “That is a part of my goal. Clean energy that doesn’t cause addiction or corruption. If you stay on my research team, I can introduce you to the other scientists and druids I have recruited. I can divulge the entirety of my plan, but I need you to trust me.”

“You are duplicitous by nature, Lotor,” she mutters. “It will be a long time before anyone outside your _team_ trusts you.”

Lotor lets out a deep, drawn-out sigh. He was expecting this. If there is anything that Larka has inherited from their father, it is his hardheadedness.

“Our people are fractured, Larka,” Lotor says, softly. “Many inside Father’s forces know this. That’s why they are easily manipulated by some supposed savior and why they scrambled around to take his throne when he was in a coma. I don’t want to lead _that_ and neither do you.”

Larka's eyes narrow, hands clenched at her sides.

“But as much as I loved this display of sibling rivalry, I had something else to discuss with you,” he pauses. “Haggar sent me a summons. She wishes to speak with me at the dreadnought and she requested for me to bring either you or your son with me.”

“What does she want?” Larka’s eyebrows raise. “If she’s requesting us, I’m surprised she would be so calm after I destroyed her experiments and you took us from her.”

“She _was_ too tranquil about it,” Lotor agrees. Larka is right. Although Haggar has never been one to carry on by violently lashing out at people, Honerva had been. It’s just more evidence that there is not much left of their mother in that witch. He would rather take Honerva’s anger over Haggar’s complacency any quintant.

“Fine,” Larka says, startling him out of his thoughts. “I’ll go with you, but if you want to start gaining my trust: leave Kythel here. I don’t want him anywhere near the Emperor or his druids ever again.”

Grief and jealousy twists in his chest like an acrimonious blade. _You can’t protect everyone. You can’t hide your boy away like you did with me,_ he wants to say. _Father isn’t your responsibility. Let me carry some of that weight._ He swallows down those words, buries them under prickly wrath and cages them in gilded Galra steel. Even when the words gather like rotting fruit in the pit of his belly, Lotor still doesn’t speak them.

Instead he says: “I have no intention of giving up you or your son.”

The words must surprise her because disbelief sparks across her face, unfurling that hardened expression of a weary spy. 

“What do you mean?”

“Narti and I will be leaving for the dreadnought within the varga,” he explains. “I’ll be leaving General Acxa in command. You will continue with your research and the boy will resume his training with Sendak for however long this summit takes.”

Lotor watches as Larka physically bites her tongue, holding back some scathing reply. Thankfully, she says nothing, only nods and acquiesces to his orders. Lotor dismisses her, calling for Acxa to bring her back to her suite. 

“That was the correct thing to do… right, Prince Lotor?” Ezor’s soft voice flits through the room. 

“Trying to persuade my sister – who despises me – to join me in this endeavor?” he questions aloud. “Doubtful. It will take much more than just pretty words or heartfelt arguments to gain her camaraderie. Not when she has other circumstances at stake.”

Sighing loudly, Lotor stands up and stretches. 

“Have a sentry unit ready my cruiser,” he says, striding towards the door. “And make sure Narti is ready for the trip.”

\--

Aboard the dreadnought, it seems more stifling than usual. A warmth so palpable that sweat slicks the back of his neck. He’d give anything to coil his hair atop his head, eager for a cool breeze against his nape. When was the last time he was on a planet?

Lotor, Narti, and Kova are escorted to the throne room. He feels the gazes of the guards, scrutinizing him with their digits curled tightly against their weapons. 

“Whatever happens at this meeting,” he whispers to Narti as they walk down the long hall of the observation deck, “we need to leave right after. Quickly. No matter what.”

Narti, silent as always, nods tightly. Kova gazes over at Zarkon and Haggar as they approach. Lotor forces himself to keep calm, especially with Kova so close to the High Priestess. Lotor still doesn’t understand how Narti was gifted with Kova. He knows her Galra parent is a druid, shrouded in the dark robes and killed through some unknown circumstances. Was she gifted Kova then? Or did the creature choose to provide Narti with essential aid and companionship? 

Tension uncoils in his belly. Taking a deep breath, Lotor is eased by the sound of Kova’s soft purring from his perch on Narti’s shoulder.

“Where is she?” Zarkon voice is like thunder and brimstone, jagged yet cultured. Lotor almost wants to instigate something, just to see that flare of antipathy and irritation flutter across his father’s face. 

“I assume you mean Larka?” He cannot help but feign idiocy.

“I have no time for your games, boy.” 

“I ordered you to bring the mother or the child,” Haggar says. “Where are they?” 

“I know you would have happily accepted both, High Priestess,” Lotor begins. “But I have use of her and I cannot claim one without the other. After I’m finished, I’ll hand deliver them back into your welcoming embrace and—”

“What use do you have for a terrorist and her paladin offspring?” Zarkon asks plainly, head cocked to the side.

Lotor grits his teeth. “I thought you didn’t care what I did in my spare time. You have no use for me here.”

“You were eager to have her executed, were you not?” Zarkon prods. “And now her list of crimes against the Galra Empire grows. She’s destroyed one of Haggar’s experimental war machine projects. When she was to be punished, you smuggled her out. So, I will only ask once more: what use do you have for a terrorist and her paladin offspring? When have you and your sister ever been allies?”

His plans are unraveling. How can he explain himself to a man prone to violence? Narti fidgets silently by his side. Lotor takes a deep breath, gazing confidently at his father with an unperturbed expression.

“Father,” he starts, “she and I are not allies. She has her uses and is easily manipulated when it comes to her son’s health and safety. What I do in my spare time does not impact the great majesty of the Galra Empire. She will be punished when I return her.” His heart beats wildly beneath his chest. A fine sheen of sweat prickles at his hairline. “I will oversee the punishment myself if I must prove my loyalty to you.”

Leaning forward, Zarkon’s eyes narrow questioningly: the slight tilt of his head and the clench of his fingers against the arms of his throne. Lotor has piqued his interest. He’s gotten by for deca-phoebs because his father ignored him in favor of finding the Lions. 

“Please know I have no use for the Lions, but only to find them for you,” Lotor continues. “The Black Lion is yours, Sire.”

Zarkon regards him once more before leaning back on his throne. 

“Once your side project is completed, I expect you to return Larka here for her trial. I expect you to return the boy, as well. You have a phoeb,” Zarkon orders.

“That is more than generous, Father,” Lotor says. “Thank you.”

“You are dismissed,” he says, stoic and cold.

Lotor only takes a deep breath once he’s back at the hanger. Narti stays close, even as the sentries keep their watchful gaze on him. He hastily wipes his forehead clean once the hatch of their ship shuts and he is sliding into the pilot seat. Lotor jumps, startled, when Kova hops from Narti’s shoulder into his lap. With shaky hands, Lotor scratches idly at the creature’s forehead. Kova purrs, warmly. It’s a small comfort against the anxiety his father fosters within him.

They’re almost to the Deadzone with only fifteen doboshes left in their journey. Kova hisses, loud and wary, before leaping back to Narti. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, worry furrowing his brows.

 _Proximity alert, my Lord,_ Narti’s voice trickles across his mind like a soft hum. _It seems we’re being tracked._

Lotor’s hands clutch the piloting controls in his firm grip. 

“Scan the ship and disable anything non-friendly.”

~~

“She’s still here,” Keith says, rather disgruntled as he leans back against the work table.

Larka looks over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows curiously. Narti had been overseeing them ever since Lotor returned. That was three vargas ago.

Perhaps things didn’t go as well as he had anticipated with Zarkon and Haggar. Whatever happened, it’s now put a dent in any research they had been planning to do.

“Ignore her,” Larka says, peering down at the solidified quintessence sample. 

“How?” Keith whispers. “It’s like she’s hovering. It’s kinda creepy, Mom. And the cat won’t stop staring…”

“Kova does that,” she says. 

“Kova?” 

The creature’s ears swivel at the sound of his name, leaping to the ground to tangle himself around Narti’s ankles.

Keith crouches, extending his hand to beckon the cat forward. Kova takes the first tentative steps forward, wariness in his yellow gaze. Keith smiles when the cat finally makes his way over, leaving a prickly lick across Keith’s knuckles. Smiling faintly, Keith scratches across a purring Kova’s forehead.

 _He likes you,_ Narti’s strange whisper fills the void. 

Larka nearly drops a shallow dish against the work table. Keith’s eyes widen, fingers drawing back from the soft black fur.

 _I don’t mean to startle you,_ Narti takes a few steps forward. _Kova may be my eyes and ears, but I can only speak in this way._

Larka, unnerved, grabs Keith and he forces himself to stand up, skirting away from the cat. 

_I was the one who left you the datapad._

Keith leans back against the table, as if the distance will give him room to breathe. “What? The clones?”

The tension in the laboratory spirals, tangible and stiflingly hot. 

“Who are you?” Larka breaks the sudden silence.

_I was tasked to watch over Prince Lotor and Princess Larka, as well as her son. I’m supposed to oversee the fallout of the Earth experiment._

Keith looks back and forth between his mother and Narti. 

“What Earth experiment?” he asks, nervously.

 _There are druids on Earth overseeing an experiment,_ Narti’s strange voice flits across the space. _Once they discovered Kythel was there—_

“What Earth experiment?” Larka repeats, anger bleeding into her voice. 

Keith stiffens. Did the druids know he was on Earth? Had they been watching him? Were they…

“Do you know what happened to my dad on Earth? Mick Kogane?” Keith asks, the words rushing out before he can latch his mouth shut.

Narti stiffens and even Larka catches the subtle movement. 

“What happened to him?” Larka asks Keith, her usually purring voice speckled with frustration.

 _I am not at liberty to discuss that,_ Narti whispers. _In fact, I don’t know much about that._

Even if it is a thought whispered across his mind, he knows that it’s a lie. He swallows around the words he wants to shout. Could they interrogate her? Lock her in the laboratory until they got their answers? Was she hovering around them, just waiting until she could approach them alone?

Kova weaves himself around Keith and Larka’s ankles before scampering back to Narti.

“Do you work for Haggar?” Larka asks, darkly. 

“And why are the druids interested in us?” asks Keith.

“Does Lotor know about this?” Larka adds.

 _Not completely,_ Narti answers, as Kova lopes up to perch himself on her shoulder. _But I had no choice. I am one of Lotor’s generals, his royal guard, but he is stepping out of bounds from previous instructed protocol. The druids managing his project want him back on track. He’s distracted. He isn’t focusing._

Not completely? She either works for Haggar or not. Her loyalty must be with Lotor if she’s his royal guard.

 _I must put a stop to this, before it gets out of hand. You shouldn’t be here._ Narti’s words stream through the telepathic curtain. _I only wanted you to put a stop to the cloning project and get out while the Empire was in chaos. The Blade of Marmora and the Paladins of Voltron took back Gal. You were supposed to escape then._

“What? What does that mean?” Keith asks, hotly, anger drenching through his body. His heart beats wildly and he grapples with the idea that perhaps their safety is at risk. Keith takes a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind and free himself of all the rage. _Patience yields focus._ Shiro is safe, healthy and in the hands of their friends. Family. They’re coming for them. His friends, his family, are coming to get them. They just need to stay put, gather information. They’ll call in when they’re near. 

But Narti’s next words fill him with ice, dousing him with cold rain water in the middle of a desert at night.

 _A fleet of Zarkon’s soldiers are coming here to destroy this base,_ Narti whispers. _I fear that Haggar has grown uneasy and has been tracking Lotor’s movements. I don’t think they believed him about turning you over._

“He was going to turn us in?”

Narti shakes her head, _No. He is not, but they’re too close to us. Larka, you should take Kythel and get on an escape pod. Leave while there’s still time._

“What are you—?” 

The shrill sound of the proximity alarms screech as the sub-lights flicker on and off. Keith crashes into his mother when a blast ricochets against the hull of the space station, the contents of the work table scattering to the floor. His eardrums throb as the dull thud rockets through the laboratory and the adjacent corridor. His teeth chatter together, and he feels knife-like pain when he bites his tongue. Keith looks up, only to see Narti splayed across the ground, Kova hissing wildly by her face. She gets up, grabbing her cat before heading to the door. Keith looks at his mom, a small gash across her cheekbone, dark blood trickling down.

“What the hell was that?” Keith asks aloud, his ears still throbbing as he helps his mother off the ground.

 _They’ve found us,_ Narti says, casting one last look at them as she opens the door. _They’re attacking. You need to leave._

Too late.

~~

Shiro stands in front of the open sleep pod, his hands itching at his sides.

“You’ll go by Ryou now. It was my dad’s name,” Shiro says gruffly. “He was a good man.”

“And what? You think that I can be like him. I’m not some twin brother.”

“You could never be like him,” Shiro says, his words barbed.

The clone – Ryou – winces, looking away as his current yellow gaze scrutinizes the floor.

“Do you agree to our terms?” Kolivan asks, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the far wall.

“I help you find Lotor’s base,” Ryou casts his strange Galra gaze over at Kolivan before fixing on Shiro’s stern expression. “And you allow me to stay here. A part of Team Voltron.”

“You’re an asset right now,” Shiro says, scrubbing his hand through his tuft of white hair. “But make no mistake… if you betray us… if you hurt Keith… if you put a hand on him, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

Ryou smirks. “So protective.”

“I will be the one who kills you,” Kolivan chuffs, “so he doesn’t have to worry and have your blood on his hands.”

The clone sighs, “Alright, I’ll agree to your terms. But answer me this: Why Ryou? Why name me after your father?”

Shiro grimaces, eyes wet as he blinks back tears. “My dad died because of these druid experiments, because they infiltrated Earth without anyone knowing. I want to always remember that when I have to look at you.”

Shiro locks eyes with Ryou, discomfort percolating in his chest. He grows dizzy just seeing his face. The sleep pod healed Ryou after Shiro had punched him, breaking his nose and shattering his jaw. The abrasions on his face have long since disappeared.

The doors slide open.

“Hey?” Matt calls out, gauging the tension in the room. “My team’s all set in their cruisers. Thace’s mobile team is geared up on the Castleship. And Coran’s got the paladins all loaded up to leave headquarters. You got your creepy twin brother ready, Shiro?”

Matt is teasing, but Shiro licks his upper lip and tastes sweat. He’s anxious. He hasn’t felt this way since his first pilot exam. 

“The both of them are ready,” Kolivan answers. “We were just setting some ground rules.”

Shiro wants to punch the smirk off Ryou’s face. It looks so strange seeing an identical version of himself, using his features to twist into something so cynical. Shiro lets out a deep breath. He can deal with this monstrosity later. 

He’s got people to save.


	17. Starlight

Another blast rockets across the hull of the space station, finally sending the portable refinery to the floor. The liquid quintessence wildly sloshes within the central chamber before leaking from the small crack in the metal encasing of the machine. Keith ignores it as he shoves another blank encrypted chip into the outbound quantum entanglement chain. Clicking through some of the commands, he starts to download as much intel and coding into the chip before primary power to the station cuts out and auxiliary stutters to life. 

Keith’s hands clench around the rim of the computer console, fingers drumming on the purple and red touchscreen. His mom had gone out looking for spare weapons thirty doboshes ago. Keith licks at the sweat beading at his upper lip as another plasma strike ricochets through the Deadzone. His heart skips a beat when the doors to the laboratory slide open. His mother enters with a rifle in one hand and a smattering of weapons haphazardly shoved in a black bag over her back. The blood on her cheekbone has finally crusted, but she doesn’t look too battered after her venture through the labyrinthine corridors. 

“The observatory deck and the gymnasium are blown to pieces,” she says, raggedly. 

“The armory is right around the corner,” Keith pauses in his work, “from the gym.”

Larka nods. “I know. The emergency airlocks have been activated in that wing of the station. It blocked me from getting in. I had to ransack through personnel rooms to find weapons.” She rummages through the bag and pulls out Narti’s slim tablet and Lotor’s older model from back on the dreadnought. “I managed to make it to our suite and retrieved these.” 

His mother tosses the slim tablet at him and he quickly connects it into the adjacent outbound plug. Hopefully, he can take even more intel. 

“We’ve also been boarded,” she comments offhandedly. 

Keith slowly turns to observe his mother. Larka pulls out a second rifle, one handgun, and their plasma generator blades. The rest of the bag is filled with ammunition. They might not even get a chance to use it all. 

“What?” he sputters. “What do you mean we’re being boarded?”

“Lotor’s sentries are fighting Zarkon’s troops and one of the cruisers docked in the hanger,” Larka explains. “How long do you have?”

“Sixty-eight percent on the chip, but with the datapad I may be able to move some of the encrypted folders over, too,” Keith explains. “We can deal with the decryption when we get back home.”

His mom’s hands are shaking as she shoves a plasma cartridge into the handgun and tests the charge. 

“What else did you see?” Keith asks, tone so sharp that Larka looks up at him. 

“Lotor and his generals have abandoned the Deadzone and have rigged the station to blow,” she says after taking a deep breath. “I don’t know how long we have.”

Keith feels his heart plummet low. His stomach almost like a gaping chasm, endless and humid. He grips the console again as another Galra ship releases pulse after pulse of plasma fire. He swears he can feel another piece of the station crack away, drifting to tangle in the reef of this asteroid belt. He shouldn’t be surprised that Lotor’s abandoned them. He wasn’t their ally, but hadn’t he taken them in as if they could have been comrades? Was Keith too hopeful? He grits his teeth and tastes a fresh burst of blood on his tongue as they shear the inside of his cheek. 

_Yeah, well fuck him,_ Keith thinks.

“How do you know? Did you see them?” he asks, frantically drumming his fingers against the console. 

73%

“Narti,” his mother answers. Her resolute tone makes him nervous. 

He remembers when he first spotted his father, fighting alongside him back at Central Command. The look of frustration on Thace’s face when Keith wouldn’t take no for an answer as the spy set the hub to blow.

_No, I’m not gonna leave you._

Keith lost Mick a long time ago and he hadn’t been old enough, strong enough, to find out how and why. He had barely been able to protect Thace when they fought against the druids. He wouldn’t allow himself to lose Larka. 

He distracts himself by moving the encrypted folders over to the tablet while Larka busies herself with the communicator in the corner and a small transponder she pulls from the bag. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, still looking at the touchscreen.

“Wiring the transponder so that you can reach Pidge when the time comes,” Larka says. Still resolute. 

Anger broils in his stomach, overflowing like lava. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he says, just as tenacious as his mother, “so get that out of your head.”

Larka stills. She takes a deep breath, then continues fiddling with the transponder.

“You’re too stubborn,” she murmurs.

“It’s hereditary,” he quips. 

The chip reaches 89% and he’s got a fourth of the folders over to the tablet when they hear loud footsteps coming down the corridor. 

“Quiznak!” Larka curses under her breath. “Pull the chip and the datapad, Kythel. We’re leaving now.”

“We still have time,” he says. “I can do this.”

He locks eyes with her, watches as she grinds her teeth together. Her grip tightens on the rifle in her hands.

“Give me ten doboshes,” he pleads. “Please.”

Grabbing the plasma blade, Larka opens the doors and shoves the generated blade into the identification pad. Sparks fly as she disables the automatic sliding doors.

“You have five,” she says. “Finish quickly.” Larka slips through the open doorway. He turns back to the console, hearing the doors manually clank shut behind her. 

The room is eerily quiet before the raucous sound of shouting and plasma fire echoes outside the laboratory. Keith forces himself to remain still, to continue tapping on the various screens, hoping that in those five doboshes he can reach one hundred percent and his mother will still be alive. 

His heart jumps at the clang of the door being shoved open. His mother is wearing some goofy grin that is so like Allura’s that it makes his chest ache. 

“The hall is clear,” she reports. “How far are you now?” She sidles up next to him, reading the screen for herself. 

“Just a little bit more time,” Keith says, angry that the percentage has only gone up four points in the five doboshes she had granted him. They might not be able to get all the data in the encrypted folders, but he at least wants all the data in the general archives and databases. He wants to be able to hand something tangible to Kolivan, something that would make their leader proud. 

There are more footsteps coming down the corridor and Larka shoves him aside, grabbing the chip and unplugging Narti’s tablet.

“We’re leaving now,” she orders. “We’ve already used up most of our time. We don’t know when this station will blow. And I don’t want you sticking around for the explosions.”

Keith grits his teeth before scrambling around for his weapons and the transponder. Larka is already tabbing open a holoscreen, searching through the station’s schematics for the location of the escape pods.

“There’s an exit shaft near the armory’s emergency airlocks,” she whispers to him as he shoves open the doors and peers out into the hall. The footsteps have vanished down a different corridor that leads to another set of laboratories. “We can take that. It will dump us out on the fifth floor.”

“How far are the escape pods?” Keith asks.

“We’ll have to pass the mainframe and the central power hub,” Larka says, shutting off the tablet to shove it in the bag. She hoists the bag filled with their intel and extra ammunition over her shoulder. “The escape pods are in the hanger.”

Before he can comment, asking where the Galra vessel was docked again and how they were going to get past Imperial soldiers, he wedges open the doors and fully looks at the carnage. Six sentries are crumbled on the ground, disabled with their wiring and circuitry spewing out electric quintessence. Two Imperial soldiers lay dead from plasma fire, blood blooming beneath their still bodies. 

“Holy—”

Larka grabs his shoulder at the sound of more running footsteps, coming in the direction of the other laboratories. Did they hear them when he shoved the door open? He’s on autopilot as his mother pulls him down the opposite hall, running with him. And everything looks the same. Gray walls. Gray flooring. Purple sub-lights. Everything is monotonous, and it grates on his nerves. A wandering thought dances at the corners of his mind: what the Galra Empire was like before Zarkon’s mad grab for power.

They turn down a familiar hallway, the same one he took with Lotor to sparring practice. Hot white anger threatens to spill over again. He’s not surprised that Lotor left them here, to figure out a way off his Deadzone by themselves. It doesn’t faze him that Lotor has ulterior motives. But the frustration is still palpable.

All he cares about is getting his mother out of here. Afterwards, he’ll get to see Shiro. The real one. The one who took him to see the shuttle his team was using on the Kerberos mission. He remembers the warmth of the dry desert air and Shiro’s smile as he pointed at the launchpad and the towering space vessel. He wants to see Takashi again. Keith wants to trace his boyfriend’s strong jaw with the tips of his calloused fingers. Keith wants to watch as his gray eyes flutter shut when he leans into kiss him. He never wants to let him go again. 

His mother grips his wrist, pulling him down another hall leading to the observatory deck. They stop short at the sight of the emergency airlocks. It’s a dark slab of metal with two glass panels and he can barely manage to see the barbed web of debris floating in space. In the distance, Keith can see the Galra ships, their plasma beams shooting at asteroids.

“Why aren’t they hitting the ship?” Keith asks. He turns to find his mother pressing a hand to an exit shaft’s identification pad.

“They may have orders to take Lotor and us into Galra custody. I doubt they want to detonate the station when they have men of their own on it looking for us,” Larka whispers, watching the beeping of the lights as the elevator descends. 

The clank of metal sentries sets his teeth on edge. Keith raises his rifle, staring down the hall as the footsteps get louder and louder. His forefinger grazes over the trigger. He hears the soft ping of the lift. 

_Almost,_ he thinks. _Almost there._ He feels his mother breeze by him, her own rifle raised. 

The first soldier rounds the corner. Keith pulls his trigger, a jet of purple plasma emitting from the muzzle and gutting the soldier. Another soldier comes, halting with his own gun raised. His mother takes the next shot, hitting the soldier through his helm and between his eyes. He smiles, imagining Lance excitedly hooting _headshot!_

A cocoon of chaos erupts as the remaining sentries take cover in an adjacent alcove. 

“Two hostiles,” a soldier shouts into her comm link. “We have two hostiles. Sub-level three. We need all units to—” Her voice sputters out, gurgling as she collapses limply from Larka’s next shot.

Keith is about to advance, desperate to take out the remaining soldiers when he feels Larka tug his shoulder and pull him to the open elevator. The doors shut and she’s tapping in the floor destination. The firefight hasn’t ended, as the soldiers in the corridor continue to charge their weapons and shoot.

“Don’t engage unless you have to,” Larka chuffs, leaning against the wall as they ascend to the fifth floor. 

“We could have taken them,” he says, gnashing his teeth together. 

“My main priority is getting you out of here,” she says, sternly, “ _alive_.”

Keith bristles, hands tightening on his rifle. 

They ride the elevator in silence, it pinging as they leave the sub-level and enter the rest of the main compound. As planned, the elevator lets them out on the fifth floor only to be met with flickering lights and vacant hallways. The space station creaks and groans, dilapidated by Zarkon’s forces. 

“How far are the hangers?”

“Not long now,” Larka murmurs. 

He feels her tense at the sound of voices again. 

“The central power hub…” her voice trails off, “it should be around here.”

Keith grabs her arm, pulling her back from the soldiers crowding around the locked entrance to the mainframe. 

“Quiznak,” she hisses through her teeth. 

Keith peers around the corner. Blocked. 

“—taking so long? Get this door open now!” A large Galra commander says, her hair swept up in a high chignon. 

“Some of Lotor’s remaining forces have locked themselves inside, Commander Gael,” a subordinate soldier shouts over the sound of the others trying to bulldoze their way in. 

“Barricaded themselves in there with a bomb? Cowards!” Commander Gael shouts. “Get me a druid! Now!”

Keith turns back to his mother. 

“How are we getting out of here now?” he asks. “A druid can sense us, right?”

Larka bites her lower lip, her hands sweating furiously against her weapon.

“How many are there?” she asks. 

Keith peers back around. “Fifteen, maybe sixteen.”

“I’ll distract them. You find your way to the escape pods,” she says. “Just keep moving towards the end wing, the pods should be in a separate room in the hanger.”

Keith’s grip falters for a moment and then anger rushes back in. What is wrong with her? Does she still not get it?

“I’m not leaving you!” He whispers, harshly over the sound of a battering ram being beaten against the mainframe door. “I’ve finally found you! Do you understand how long it took me to do that? How much I’ve wanted to meet you? Just to know why you left me! Just to know you!”

Her eyes grow wide, wet yet still unyielding. “Kythel, we can’t do—”

A deep crack resounds through the station as the primary power shuts off, plunging them into darkness. It doesn’t stop Commander Gael from barking orders. Keith counts fifteen ticks before the auxiliary power kicks in.

“When we get out of here, I’m training with Kolivan,” Keith rails on. At a time like this, he knows he sounds childish, but he doesn’t care. “And then you and Dad can just wait for me like parents wait for their kids to get let out of school! So, let’s get—” 

Something moves in the corner of his vision. Then he sees it, his mouth agape as Sendak comes barreling down the hallway. The deep clunking sound of a grenade impacting against the group of Galra soldiers makes his ears ring. Larka grabs him, shielding him beneath her as debris and gore splatters throughout the corridor. When the dust finally settles, his mother and him rise on unsteady legs. The mainframe door is still intact, but the soldiers are gone. Keith looks over at Sendak, holding a grenade launcher. 

Simultaneously, Larka and Keith raise their rifles, pointing them at the ousted commander. Sendak smirks, dropping the weapon to the ground before raising his hands in surrender. 

“You know, most people just say thank you,” Sendak growls. “But the Altean-Galran royal families have always been... dysfunctional.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you now,” Larka says, gritting her teeth.

Keith’s finger grazes the trigger of his rifle, eager to press a smattering of plasma rays into Sendak.

“You want to get your boy out of here,” Sendak says, arrogantly, “and he wants his mama to come with him. I’ll help you.”

Another wave of rage washes over him. Since when does this monster like to help? He nearly destroyed the Castleship at one point by playing mind games. He had exploited Shiro’s weakness and nearly killed all of them. Sendak has always been their enemy.

“Why should we trust you?” Keith asks.

“You shouldn’t,” Sendak says, “but Lotor’s left us here to fend for ourselves and I’ll help you get to the escape pods. Afterwards, we’ll never have to see each other again.”

Keith doubts that. This man pops up at the most inopportune times. He’ll probably take an escape pod back to Zarkon and retell everything he’s heard being said here. Lotor leaves too many loose ends.

Larka is the first to drop her weapon. 

“Fine,” she says. “But if I get a hint of you betraying us, you’ll lose the only eye still in your head.”

Sendak shrugs his large shoulders. “That’s fair,” he says, taking the lead. “I’ll just obtain another ocular prosthetic from the druids.”

He does have every intention to go back and plead his case to Zarkon. A loyal yet expelled soldier who has critical information about Prince Lotor’s plans. That is the only thing he has left to offer the Empire. He’d probably rather die by Zarkon’s own hand than join a revolutionary faction. So then why in the hell is he helping them?

They follow Sendak as he leads them down the long corridor to the hanger. The soldier who had gone in search of an Imperial druid has not returned, but the closer they get to the hanger the more he realizes why. The sound of a firefight has only grown louder: shouts from Lotor’s sentries, yelling from Zarkon’s soldiers. The acrid stench of plasma fire and heady scent of blood hovers in his nose. 

Sendak raises his hand, halting Larka and Keith in their tracks. Keith clutches his rifle, checks the ammo pack and recharges the energy. The three of them tuck themselves in doorway to the hanger, peering around to gain a visual. 

A large Galra vessel had docked, but Lotor’s remaining sentries had also been able to hold back the Imperial forces. Dozens of Zarkon’s soldiers lay dead or dying as the bulky sentries send volley after volley of attacks on their enemies. There are only a handful of druids in the fray, coiling and threading their black void magic together around their hands only to let loose on a few of the sentries. Electricity crackles as their heads come loose, crushed under the weight of the strange magical science.

“They’re holding off Lotor’s men and waiting for reinforcements,” Sendak comments, quietly.

“How do you know?” Larka whispers. 

“It’s what I would do,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Another ship positions itself into a free docking hatch and another bout of Zarkon’s soldiers come spewing out like an open faucet. A slender commander comes strutting through the open hatch, shouting orders even through the firefight. 

“Where is Commander Gael?” he shouts gravelly. “Has someone disabled the detonator? Where is Prince Lotor?!”

There is a cacophony of shouting.

“They’re distracted,” Keith mutters.

“It won’t be long before they make their way over here,” Larka adds.

“Run for the escape pods. I’ll cover you,” Sendak says, eyeing Larka’s weapon.

But it’s too late. A druid rounds the corner behind them, and Keith hears the eerie snap of their neck. Sendak is barreling past them, tackling the druid to the ground. He’s shouting for them to go, but it’s only attracting more attention. The commander is gathering his troop, advancing on the hidden alcove. 

Keith hears the next snap as Sendak’s new prosthetic cracks through the druid’s throat, their hands flopping uselessly to the side. 

“Larka, get your boy out,” Sendak says.

His mother passes her rifle to Sendak. She shoulders the bag higher and presses on, grabbing Keith’s arm and pulling him towards the escape pods before the soldiers can start firing. 

“Pull back, Commander, we have to pull back,” someone shouts and then they’re all rocked to the ground as a blast hits the hull of the space station. 

“—oltron!”

Keith’s head whips around just in time to see Sendak taking down two soldiers and heading towards the commander, the rifle raised in his large hands and his sharp teeth bared. Larka snatches the rifle out of his hands, peers around the column and blasts another soldier. This time it is one of Lotor’s sentries. 

“Kythel, head to the pods!” she shouts, just as another blast rockets the station. She shoves the bag into his arms. “Go! I’m right behind you!”

Another ship attempts to dock and misaligns, scraping across the hull. The space station rocks among the asteroids. Keith grimaces, falling to the ground again. The station can’t take much more of this. Between the impending explosion and the looming prospect of being sucked into outer space, Keith doesn’t know which is worse. 

Throughout the chaos, he barely has time to react as a slight body tackles him down to the ground and he feels small hands grab at his shoulders. He’s about to elbow his assailant when—

“Keith! It’s me! Pidge!”

Keith freezes, flipping over and looking up into the smiling face of one of his best friends. He looks past her to see Allura grabbing Larka’s arm and pulling her towards the doorway they just left.

He feels hot tears track down his cheeks, elated by some sense of familiarity on this gray vessel. 

“Let’s go, buddy!” Pidge grips Keith’s cheeks and presses a wet kiss to his forehead, hauling him to his feet. “Time to go home!”

Keith catches one last glimpse of Sendak, ripping out the throat of the commander, before Pidge is pulling him out of the hanger. They pass the strangled druid, racing down the hall towards the central power hub and the gore Sendak left behind. 

“We need to leave,” Larka says to Allura. “Lotor rigged the station to blow.”

“We had to blow a hole in the hull for Blue and Green,” Pidge says. 

“How did you manage to find us?” Keith asks. 

“Long story, but we have about three teams assaulting Zarkon’s forces out there,” Pidge answers. “We’re all boarding the Castleship once we get out of here.”

“Where _is_ Lotor?” Allura asks, out of breath.

“Another long story,” Keith says. 

“He left us,” Larka mutters, darkly. 

They enter a long hallway where Blue and Green’s large maws are open through a huge gap in the hull. Keith makes sure his mom boards Blue with Allura before following Pidge onto Green, dimly aware that an emergency airlock is activating behind them. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here, space cowboy,” Pidge teases as she takes her spot at the pilot seat. 

Keith holds the back of the seat as Pidge’s hands grip the toggles, and Green is extricating herself out of the hole while Blue takes the lead. It feels good to be back in a Lion. 

Outside of the space station, it looks like an interstellar minefield. Debris cloaks the area. There are a few foreign ships and some Marmora cruisers shooting at Galra ships. Closer to the Imperial fleet are the three other lions. Yellow. Red. Black. Hunk. Lance. Shiro. 

“Is everyone okay?” 

Shiro. His deep voice. A steady heartbeat. A warmth that he’s missed. 

“Yeah, did we get the packages?” Lance asks, breaking Keith out of his reverie. 

“Shiro?” Keith mutters. 

Pidge smiles. 

“Yes,” Allura answers. “Pull everyone back. That station is set to explode. We’ll reconvene at the Castleship.”

\--

He smells Shiro’s woodsy aftershave before he sees him. 

The lounge is packed with welcoming faces. He’s been introduced to Pidge’s older brother and the rebel team he’s in charge of. Aliens of different origins, joining forces together in the fight against the Galra Empire. He is embraced by Thace’s mobile team: some familiar faces like Umaala and Ulaz and some new faces like Hazar who claps him roughly on the back with a smile on his face, _“You look like your sire, boy.”_ He’s embraced by Hunk and Lance next, squeezed tightly between them before Coran wrestles his way in to hold Keith for himself. 

When he finally pulls himself away from their teary eyes and bearhugs, he turns to find Shiro behind him. Smiling timidly, but still there. Whole. Smelling of Earth. He feels Shiro’s palm on his lavender cheek. It’s almost too intimate to do this with so many others in the lounge. He’s never been one for public displays of affection, but this… this he takes. Greedy for more, he leans into the calloused touch, into the _real_ smell of Shiro. 

“Takashi?” he mutters.

Shiro nods tightly, pressing his lips into a firm line before leaning his forehead against Keith’s. 

“You’re home, Keith.”

Hot, dewy breath fans across his face. And he gorges on it, lets it envelop him, hold him close.

“You’re taller,” Shiro chuckles.

Keith can’t help but grin. 

“I still love you. You know that, right?” Shiro asks, tenderly and like an open book.

Keith nods, leaning closer. He can hear others carrying on, having their own conversations. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mother hug his father, sees Coran whispering something in her ear. But he ignores it. She’s safe, and now he can focus entirely on the man in front of him.

“Say it,” Shiro pleads. “Let me here you say it.”

“I love you, too.”

Shiro almost lets out a pained whimper, strained and whining. They’ve been apart for so long.

“H-how did you find us?” Keith asks. 

Shiro pulls away from him. Like a delicate flower in the sunlight, Keith leans towards him. 

“The clone…”

Keith’s eyes widen. “Where is he?”

“He helped us track you,” Shiro explains, nodding over to the moody figure off in the corner. “He knows a lot about Lotor. Or so he says.”

Keith follows Shiro’s gaze, seeing the clone’s odd demeanor. His eyes are now a Galra yellow, glinting over at him, scrutinizing over everyone. 

“You can’t trust him,” Keith says, tenderly holding Shiro’s strong jaw. He strokes his thumb across the stubbly skin. “My mom and I… we saw some strange things. Haggar had clones of you.”

“W-what?” 

“Maybe… when they took your arm… they used that to clone you,” Keith supplies. “Maybe they’ve been working on you for a while.”

“I was supposed to be their weapon,” Shiro says, after a pause. “I never really understood what she meant, but… I think I can see now.”

“There’s so much more,” Keith starts, his words coming out in a rush, tumbling past his lips. “Lotor’s plans. Zarkon still being alive... and he started hunting us down. Whatever Lotor is doing, Zarkon doesn’t approve. And then there’s Sendak who—”

“Sendak?” Shiro sputters. He shakes his head, trying to clear his own fuzzy thoughts. “There’s a lot of stuff that’s been happening on this side, too. We’re going to have to sort through it, figure out our next moves. Kolivan wants us all to gather at the Record and explain what everyone has seen, so every rebel faction is on the same page.”

Keith nods.

Shiro smiles, before pulling him into a gentle hug. “But for now… I just want to hold you.”

Keith rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder, turning his face into the crook of his neck, nosing softly at the damp, sweaty skin there. He breathes in deep. 

Yes, now he’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! I appreciate the comments and kudos!


End file.
